


The Vault of the Resurrector

by birderlands



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Slurs, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dubious Science, Found Family, Gen, Mutual Pining, probably too many pigeons, some characters not listed because they're In Disguise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birderlands/pseuds/birderlands
Summary: Felicity and Angel take new names and hunt an unusual vault. Commander Lilith helps, along with a host of other vault hunters. Along the way they must contend with an eldritch horrorterror, the mystery of Angel's resurrection, feelings, death, and oblivious idiots in love. Oh, and the phenomenal powers of psycho magic. [contains many canon characters disguised as OCs]





	1. Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> ****  
>    
> 
> 
> Before you read: this fic is going to be FULL of unfamiliar names (and some unfamiliar faces), but I promise you there are VERY FEW original characters. **If you don’t recognise a character, there’s a 95% chance they’re a canon character in disguise**
> 
> Also: this fic focuses on the 'psycho' race from borderlands. The various abilities of psychos are codified and (hopefully) explored, and the fic assumes that Zed (& Ned) + Tina + various others are all technically psychos
> 
> Warning: this fic is set after the events of Tales, and was written before the Commander Lilith DLC was released. This fic is therefore not canon-compliant with the aforementioned DLC or BL3, and is Incorrect about Several Aspects of Canon including (but not limited to): how long it takes a bloodwing bird to reach maturity (in this fic it takes years), and the fact that siren tattoos disappear when powers are lost (in this fic, they don’t).
> 
> An apology: I find Zed/Tannis to be adorable and I’m sorry I didn’t have the foresight to include them in this fic. However too much of the plot requires Zed in a different relationship. 
> 
> Another apology: this is very BL1, BL2, and TPS character-heavy. In other words, there won’t be much about the Tales characters. Sorry.
> 
> A note: I have NO IDEA exactly how old Angel was meant to be, so I’m going with ‘more-or-less-the-same-age-as-Gaige’.
> 
> And a final warning: this is NOT a pro-Jack fic. If you like Handsome Jack and prefer to see him portrayed as good or neutral, you will not enjoy this story.

* * *

* * *

Lucy pulls herself into a sitting position, her legs dangling from the makeshift mattress. She tries to move her feet, and they work! Thank god, her body still works! Agwun and Agtu watch over her from the next room. They’ve apparently been watching over her since they pulled her out of the rubble months ago, when she was charred and broken and barely alive.

Lucy tries to get down from the cardboard-pile-turned-mattress.

“Not yet,” Agtu warns her. “Tomorrow you may try to stand. It isn’t safe to push yourself so far today”.

Lucy makes a frustrated noise, and says “We’re wasting time. I have things to do. I have someone I need to obliterate.”

She needs to dye her hair blonde, to try and remember how to use computers, and then, obliteration. That’s the plan.

“I know,” Agwun says kindly. “There will be time for all of that, I promise.”

* * *

* * *

Lilith presses her palm against the fire-resistant, corrosion-resistant, shock-resistant, slag-resistant wall. She thumps it a few times.

“Seems sturdy,” she tells the others. “This’ll do.”

“I still think we should have made it cryo-resistant,” Athena Springs says, leaning against a wall with her signature mix of barely-contained rage and debilitating social awkwardness.

“MAYA SALADS!” yells Krieg, who, having dated Maya for several months, tends to incorporate her name into his incoherent rants.

“I still think we could have kept our _old_ headquarters,” Mordecai says from the rafters.

“There isn’t enough room for everyone at the old headquarters,” Lilith tells him, for the fifteenth time.

“Exactly!” Gaige says. “It broke my heart, having to keep Deathtrap packed away all the time.”

“Maybe we would have more room if someone brought fewer birds along to every meeting,” Maya adds, carefully.

“Don’t look at me,” Mordecai says. “I’ve only got the one. It’s not my fault Talon is so attractive to other birds.”

Lilith doesn’t respond. She likes it when Mordecai talks about Talon – no matter how inane the conversation – because in those brief moments, he doesn’t seem so terribly sad.

* * *

* * *

Lucy smacks her head against the console.

“Great,” she groans. “Just great. I can’t even interface remotely!”

Agwun crosses the room, his loader arms outstretched, placating.

“This is our fault,” he says, quietly. “You were brain-dead for a significant amount of time before we revived you. We—“

“Wait!” Lucy says, throwing up her hand in a panic, but it’s too late. Agwun gets too close, and his eye goes dead, his body seizes up, and he drops to the floor like a metal ragdoll.

“Oh no!” Lucy exclaims. Her instinct is to reach out to her friend and help him back to his feet, but she is poison to him at short distances. Instead she backs away, and lets Agtu carry his companion to a safe distance.

“It’s your lag,” Agtu tells her. “It engages our failsafe protocols. He will be back in a moment.”

Lucy twirls her newly-blonde hair around her finger.

“I know,” she says. She’s seen it too many times before, and she still hates it every time.

* * *

* * *

In this post-Hyperion era, some new rules are established:

Rule 1: nobody is called ‘Jack’ or ‘John’ anymore. Every Pandoran unlucky enough to be given one of those names has long since changed it to something more palatable. Like ‘snotfucker’.

Rule 2: computers don’t work as well as they used to. It’s hard to get parts, and it’s even harder to find coders who really know what they’re doing. Also someone, or something, keeps taking the cores out of Hyperion robots, and Lilith is really going to have to look into that.

Rule 3: some of the new Vaults are incredible, and some don’t make any sense at all. There’s one called Vault of the Resurrector, that will resurrect exactly one person, but ludicrously will only work if that person themselves opens the vault, without assistance. Another, called Vault of the Crawlers, apparently contains infinite earwigs.

Rule 4: no matter what, ignore the reported sightings of Handsome Jack. Someone is always going to see the bastard somewhere. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s dead, his AI clone is dead, he’s _really definitely dead_ this time.

* * *

* * *

Sometimes Lucy just sits on her roof, and watches the mad gunwoman shoot at the empty marshland.

Ever since she nearly died, her siren powers have completely disappeared, and an aura of lag follows her everywhere, affecting every electronic thing within a few feet of her. It affects the loaders worse than anything else, though. They’re primed to shut down completely in the face of interference.

And now, what she needs to do, is build a computer. Out of parts of other computers. It’s going to be frustrating and slow and difficult and awful. Lucy will grin and bear it all, because this is obliteration, part one. This is her opus. This is her revenge.

The gunwoman – Eve – fires a shot. Lucy glances at the swamp, and fancies that she sees something faintly green shatter into nothingness. It would be nice, after all, if Eve weren’t crazy.

The radio at Lucy’s belt crackles to life. “We have scavenged a selection of AI cores for you,” Agwun tells her, pleasantly. “Constructors and loaders, with minimal damage. Just as you requested.”

“Great,” Lucy replies. “I’m coming down.”

Obliteration, part one, can finally begin.

* * *

* * *

The Sleets cut off all communications passing through Thousand Cuts long ago. Lilith hasn’t heard from Brick or his Slabs in months.

“He’ll be okay, sugar,” Moxxi says, gently.

“For how long?” Lilith asks, without emotion.

_Is there an amount of eridium that could fix all of this?_

_Is there a number of liquefied bandits that would push the Sanctuary citizens out of ‘just surviving’ and into ‘actually living’?_

_Can the Firehawk actually give people hope and happiness? Or just keep handing them back the same pitiful lives, over and over?_

Lilith is so tired.

“Long enough,” Moxxi tells her, leaning both elbows and both boobs on the bar. “I heard we killed fifteen Sleets since this morning.”

“But no prisoners,” Lilith says, irritably. “Nobody to question!”

“Hey!” Moxxi says, defensively, and Lilith forces herself to deflate.

“I know, I know,” she says. “They’re doing a good job. You should be proud.”

The Sleet-killers used to be just Axton and Ellie, mowing through bad guys with turrets and guns and car-crushers and sheer, well, _moxie_. It was cute. They were a little murdercouple, just like Lilith and Roland had once been.

But then, one day, Tina had joined them. She’d just upped stumps and moved out to Axton and Ellie’s with muttered explanations about ‘new ideas for explosives’ and ‘needing a change of scene’. And that… _that_ still hurt the most.

Lilith scrubs her face with her hand and rams a few notes into the tip jar.

“Please excuse me,” she says, getting to her feet. “I need to go hold my nephew, before he leaves me too.”

* * *

* * *

Things that aren’t affected by the lag: keyboards, old monitors, and extension cords. Lucy uses all three to set herself up as a semi-remote coder. Agwun and Agtu plug in the AI cores one-by-one, a safe distance away in the other room.

Most of the cores are dead, with just residual code remaining. They find nothing useful in the first batch.

Agtu goes out to scavenge more cores. Agwun asks Lucy if she even knows what she’s looking for. He sounds palpably concerned. The loaders are the best caregivers Lucy has ever had, which is saying… okay, that’s not saying anything at all. But they _are_ good.

“There’s something hidden,” Lucy tells him. “Deep in the code, shattered into a hundred thousand pieces and disseminated randomly. I’m going to find all of it, and put it back together again.”

Agwun tilts his head. “Are you trying to remake a robot army?” he asks.

Lucy smiles, all teeth.

“I’m trying to do the exact opposite of that,” she replies.

* * *

* * *

Talon sits on Lilith’s lap, chewing on the remains of her leather vest happily. He’s lost most of his baby fluff, no longer a fledgling, nearly an adult. But Lilith still wraps her arms around him and holds him close, like a baby. And like a baby, he snuggles against her chest.

“You’re so cute,” Lilith tells him, as emphatically as she can manage.

“He is literally a killing machine,” Mordecai reminds her. “If he wanted to, he could rip your entire—“

“I know, I know,” Lilith says, testily.

The two of them sit in silence for a while, legs dangling over the unfenced edge of Sanctuary, staring down at the distant highlands below. They both know that Lilith has a chunk of eridium the size of her fist in her pocket. They both know that the flask at Mordecai’s hip is half-full of rakk ale. There’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them: _I won’t if you don’t_.

But they both know how fragile that agreement is.

Three Pandoran pigeons alight next to Lilith, their sharp tusks clicking and clacking as they land. They stare at Talon with beady eyes, and an uncharacteristic air of loyalty.

“He’s a natural leader,” Mordecai says, proudly.

“I want a pet,” Lilith blurts out. Everything is so lonely and sad. Maybe if she had a bird – or a dog – of her own, she’d feel better.

“Sure,” Mordecai says, bitterly. “Lily, you’re already getting crushed under the weight of leadership responsibilities. You sure you want to add additional responsibility to your personal life?”

Lilith sighs and pats her pocket.

“No,” she says. “I guess not.”

* * *

* * *

Constructor 1290 is unconscious, but alive. On reflex, he tries to rend the loaders with non-existent turrets and laser beams. He screams death and damnation. And he whispers the word ‘help’.

“Into the trash?” Agwun asks. “With the others?”

Lucy shakes her head. For the next week, she stays awake, stripping 1290’s code into tiny fragments, and collecting the pieces that whispered.

This is the easy part. For obliteration stage two, she will need to open a vault.

* * *

* * *

Intel is a precious, fragile thing. It is a sealed note, carefully delivered to the right recipient. It is a whisper in an ear, every word perfectly selected, efficient, and effective. It is endangered and frightening, especially intel about Hyperion robots. It should _not_ , Lilith thought, sound like _this_.

“THERE’S SOME GIRL LIVING OUT NEAR THE SWAMP AND SHE’S GOT A METRIC F**KTONNE OF OLD ROBOT PARTS OR SOMETHING AND I THINK IT’S HIGHLY F**KING SUSPICIOUS”

“Thank you,” Lilith says, holding her echo away from her ears. “I’ll send someone to go check it out.”

“I TOOK SOME PHOTOS BUT THEY’RE KINDA BLURRY SINCE I WAS GOING REALLY SH*TTING FAST!!,” Mr Torgue adds. “I’M SENDING THEM TO YOU NOW!”

“Oh,” Gaige says, from the other end of the room, “Do we have a new place to nuke? I’ve just given DT the ability to use grenades, and I can’t wait to test it out in the field!”

Lilith glances at Torgue’s photographs, squinting at the blonde-haired girl and the two loader bots. An odd feeling of hope – or maybe just relief – wells up inside her chest. _Did you survive, after all_?

“Not this time,” she says aloud. “I’m going in on my own.”

“We haven’t blown anything up in days,” Salvador complains.

* * *

* * *

It’s the same process, over and over. Scan an AI core, strip the code, collect the pieces that remember. Rinse and repeat. Every couple of weeks Lucy finds some new scrap of code to add to the empty Claptrap shell in the corner. But mostly, she just finds disappointment.

One night, Agtu tosses a hard drive at her through the doorway. “A copy,” he says, “of me.”

“And I,” Agwun adds. “We loved you from the very beginning. Maybe there’s something in us that can help.”

Lucy doesn’t argue with them. Privately, she knows that nobody loved anyone when Handsome Jack was in charge. These loaders have evolved, that’s all. And they deserve a better, softer, brighter world, and if Lucy is lucky she might just be able to give it to them.

* * *

* * *

The climate is changing again. Torgue’s intel leads to a small area of plains, bordered by a thick, putrid marshland, shrouded in humidity and haunted with infantile ghost stories.

At the centre of the wreckage Lilith finds a cluster of small homes, some inhabited and some not. This tiny town is populated by bandits and the banished. Nobody talks to her – or, apparently, to each other. A woman named Eve – who is wrapped in so much fabric that she makes Mordecai look underdressed – glares at Lilith through tiny eyeholes and raises a shotgun.

“Keep moving,” she growls. “I only shoot ghosts.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Lilith tells her, amicably

Eve snorts. “Tell that to my spent buckshot,” she replies.

Lilith keeps moving. She finds the house surrounded by the corpses of Hyperion robots. She finds two functional loaders – Angelic Guardians, by the looks of them – one blocking the doorway, the other raising some kind of weapon. And then Lilith sees the girl, blonde and slight, most of her face hidden behind thick goggles.

“No,” the girl tells the loaders. “This woman was my fri… is someone I trust. Let her in.”

Lilith watches the loaders back away, and reluctantly extinguishes the flame in her own hand before walking inside.

_This could be a trap. This probably isn’t really her. You’re too credulous, you’ve always been too credulous._

“If you’ve come to kill me,” the girl says softly, “I won’t resist.”

But no. There it is, the same voice that Lilith knows so well, has known for so many years. There’s no mistaking it.

“I’m not planning on killing you, unless you give me a reason,” Lilith says, waving one hand in the air. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lucy. Short for Lucifer.”

Lilith considers this for a moment, and then almost laughs. “Good,” she says. “I like that name for you. Lucifer, the angel who defied his god.”

She glances at the empty claptrap on the floor. It has an unusual, striped paint job

“What’s this for?”

“A project I’m working on,” Lucy says. And then, more carefully, “You already know who I am, don’t you?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Lilith answers. “What’s the project? You’re not bringing back an AI version of a certain dead man, are you? You know I have to ask.”

“I’m trying to bring back an AI version of an AI,” Lucy replies. “If successful, it should be one more nail in Jack’s coffin.”

Lilith is silent for a moment, weighing up the options.

“Alright,” she says, finally. “I’m glad you’re alive, you know.”

“You too.”

“Any chance I can convince you to come work for me in Sanctuary?”

Lucy raises her eyebrows.

“Do you really think your friends would approve of that?”

“Fair enough,” Lilith says. “Then I’ll see myself out.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy peers out of the window. “Lilith was nice to me,” she says, softly. “I’m not so completely alone.”

“I am upset that you didn’t let us defend you,” Agtu says, angrily.

“I am similarly peturbed,” Agwun agrees.

Over the radio, Lucy’s third, usually-silent guardian chimes in.

“That was the Firehawk, kiddo,” Eve says gruffly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lucy tells all of them, smiling. “Everything is fine. _Really_. I trust her.”

Eve says “if you say so” and abruptly ends the conversation. The loaders glance at each other in silence for a moment, processing.

“You did not tell her about the lag,” Agwun says. “If the Firehawk, the leader of Sanctuary, can be trusted, surely she could help fix you.”

“Even Sanctuary doesn’t have the resources for that,” Lucy tells him. “Anyway, _I’m_ going to fix me. I just need more time.”

* * *

* * *

Lilith wanders along the edge of the marsh, hands on her face, thinking.

_She’s alive, and she’s free. That’s already a nail in Jack’s coffin. Not that he needs any more coffin-nails, since he’s very very dead._

Does that change anything? About running Sanctuary? About which Vault to go after next? About how very tired Lilith is getting?

_Splish splash splish splash splish splash_

She’ll tell Mordecai about Lucy, of course. And Brick too, eventually, when Lilith next speaks with him. Maya won’t keep secrets from her own team, so not Maya. Nobody else needs to know just yet.

_Splish splash splish_

Lilith frowns and glances at the noise, expecting to see some kind of oversized scythid. Instead, twenty feet away, she sees…an apparition. A translucent and luminous _thing_ , slowly walking towards Lucy’s tiny town. Lilith blinks hard, and then there’s a loud _bang_ and Lilith realises Eve is standing on the roof of her house, smoking gun in hand. The ghost…the hallucination…whatever it was, is gone.

“What did I tell you?” Eve yells as if, somehow, she’d been expecting it.

* * *

* * *

Lucy has two rules about friendly computers. The first rule is to always treat them with as much kindness as possible. The second rule is to always, always make a back-up copy, because once you’ve deleted an AI, there’s no recovering it. It’s like looking for a needle in a needle-free haystack.

Unless, like Gladstone Katoa, you happen to make an incomplete AI deletion in a vessel that created hundreds of other AIs, scattering its fractured personality to the seven winds. _Then_ it’s just like looking for a needle in a single-needle haystack. Frustrating and slow, but possible.

“I estimate we’re over halfway there,” Lucy announces happily, leaning back in her chair to stretch. Halfway through Operation Obliterate Jack, part 1: restore happiness.

“And then the Claptrap unit will come to life?” Agtu asks.

“The unit is just a body,” Lucy says. “If I’m right – and if I’m lucky – the salvaged AI will come back to life.”

“Understood.”

The loaders pause for a moment, and Lucy claps her hands.

“Come on, load up the next core,” she says. “I’m on a roll!”

More pausing.

“You have not slept in thirty-six hours,” Agwun says. “We should take a break.”

“Soon,” Lucy says, impatiently. “But not yet.”

Agtu makes a sighing noise, and retrieves another AI core from the pile. Before Lucy can start to examine it, her radio crackles to life.

“Hey, kiddo,” Eve says. “Someone else has just arrived in our town.”

“What?” Lucy says. “Who? Are you sure it’s not just one of your ghosts?”

Eve sees ghosts. Of Jack. It’s an entire _thing_ and Lucy very much does not like to talk about it.

“No, it’s a human,” Eve tells her. “Thin. Goggles. Spiky ponytail.”

_Gaige_? Lucy wonders.

“Do they have a robot?” she asks Eve aloud. “Or a bird?”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand pets.”

Lucy pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Red hair, or black?”

“Black,” Eve says. “I want to say his name is… Matt… de Cow?”

“That is not even slightly correct.” Lucy answers. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

She turns back to her loaders.

“One of Lilith’s friends is here,” she says, excitedly. “Let’s take that break, and go say hi.”

* * *

* * *

“Back again?” Moxxi asks. “People will start to talk.” She presses an intricately-decorated fingernail against her lips, thoughtfully. “Maybe we should make out again, and give them something to talk _about_.”

Lilith shrugs. Moxxi is gorgeous, clever and fun. In another world – a world where Lilith didn’t miss Roland quite so much, a world where Moxxi had hurt Mordecai a little less – maybe the two of them could have been together.

“You said you had intel that could be important,” Lilith says, briskly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Of course,” Moxxi says, smoothly. “You’re here for intel. This has nothing to do with the fact that you just sent your one remaining best friend away from the city.”

Lilith finds an empty shot-glass, and slams it against the bar.

“He was needed elsewhere,” she says, with every ounce of authority she can muster.

“Naturally,” Moxxi says. “And since he’s been gone, you’ve spent, what? Fifteen? Sixteen hours in my bar. He only left yesterday.”

“None of your business. I’m a paying customer.”

“You haven’t bought a damn thing,” Moxxi says. “You’re _lonely_.”

Lilith smiles nastily.

“And who spent the sixteen hours talking crap with me instead of running her bar?” she asks. “You’re lonely too.”

Moxxi tosses her perfectly-coiffed head and flounces off. She re-positions herself at the other side of her bar, scrubbing at the countertop as if she’s trying to dig a hole in it. Lilith fumes. She thinks about smashing every glass she can see. She thinks about burning a new hole into the wall. She thinks about the raw eridium in her pocket.

She thinks about what it means to be a leader and a role model, to have scared and broken people look up to her.

Lilith stays at her barstool and waits.

* * *

* * *

“Hi,” Lucy says, trying and failing not to sound like a hyperactive preschooler. “I’m Lucy, and these are my loaders. Don’t worry, they’re friendly.”

Mordecai just stares impassively through his opaque goggles.

“I’m a friend of Lilith’s,” Lucy continues, more nervously. “Or maybe friend is too strong a word, but I know her and we’re not enemies.”

Mordecai has two small bags dangling from his shoulders, and a rifle in his hand. Above him, a bird soars effortlessly, riding the thermals.

“It’s Mordecai, right?” Lucy asks, desperately. She can _feel_ Agtu getting edgy behind her.

“Are we pretending like we don’t know each other?” Mordecai asks. “Like the whole you-talking-to-me-for-months-when-I-was-a-vault-hunter thing didn’t happen? Or are we pretending that it happened, but you’re someone else?”

Lucy exhales at length.

“No, we’re not pretending that,” she says. “I’ve lost my powers, changed my name, and for the first time ever I’m free to live my life. But I’m still the same person. I’m still Angel.”

* * *

* * *

Minutes pass. A flock of pigeons land near the bar entrance. A couple of them stare at Lilith balefully. One of them spits acid in her general direction.

“It’s not my fault Talon’s gone,” Lilith tells them, irritably. “And you’re just dumb birds, you have no way of knowing that anyway.”

“If you’re done yelling at the wildlife,” Moxxi says. “We _do_ need to talk. Er, not because _I_ need to, but because information needs to be shared.”

“Right,” Lilith agrees. “Share away.”

Moxxi adjusts her hat, leans in close, and then says “a _lot_ of my customers have been talking about seeing ghosts recently.”

Despite herself, Lilith laughs aloud.

“That’s not intel,” she says. “That’s _rumour_. It’s an urban myth; a literal ghost story.”

“People said the same thing about the vault,” Moxxi reminds her, quietly.

“This is nothing like the vault,” Lilith says. “People are always hallucinating apparitions. It doesn’t mean anything – except that Pandorans are all half-mad.”

Moxxi brushes a few crumbs off her shoulder, and ploughs on.

“Every report is the same,” she tells Lilith. “The ghosts are always sighted on wet terrain – marshland and swamp, mostly – and they’re always translucent, green-ish, glowing and slow-moving. They don’t interact with people, they just walk around making wet noises and looking ominous.”

Lilith thinks of the vision she saw near Lucy’s home, and frowns.

“And where are these ghosts supposed to be?” she asks. “Geographically?”

“There have been multiple sightings from the Highlands,” Moxxi answers, “and the Caustic Caverns, as well as half a dozen locations in Aegrus, another half a dozen from the tundra, and a few from the coast.”

“Okay, so I’m supposed to believe that these ghosts can appear literally anywhere on the planet?” Lilith asks, incredulously.

“They seem to have quite a range, anyway,” Moxxi says.

Lilith is exhausted. She wonders what it would be like to go to sleep and not wake up for a month. But she can’t do that, she has people she needs to protect. A _lot_ of people.

Maybe Moxxi feels the same way.

“I’ll look into it,” Lilith tells her. “See if any of your bar patrons have a photograph or something. I’ll call Karima. We’ll figure this out.”

“Got it,” Moxxi says, sounding almost – but not quite – relieved. “But Lilith, there’s something else you need to know.”

Lilith props her chin on the bar.

“Hit me,” she says.

“Everyone who has gotten close enough to make out the features of one of these ghosts has said…the ghosts themselves all look identical to each other...”

Moxxi chews on her lower lip, hard enough to remove a layer of her industrial-strength-waterproof lipstick. She looks worried enough that Lilith already knows what she’s going to say before she finishes the sentence.

“And they all look like Handsome Jack.”

Lilith laughs again, this time humourlessly, bitterly.

“Of _course_ they do,” she says.

* * *

* * *

“A lot of bad things happened during the fight against Hyperion,” Mordecai says. “Lilith doesn’t hold you responsible for any of it, and I trust her judgement.”

“Thank you,” Lucy says.

“But I still don’t want to be around you more than I have to,” Mordecai continues, and Lucy’s mood deflates like a balloon.

“I understa—”

“So you just keep doing whatever you do,” he interrupts, “and I’ll do what I was sent here to do, and we won’t cross paths unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Lucy nods miserably. _Of course. Mordecai has always been one to hold grudges. It’s a defence mechanism: his wounds heal slowly, or not at all._

“What were you sent here to do?” Agtu asks, from several feet away.

Mordecai lifts his free arm. The bird drops out of the sky and lands on his wrist with a happy-sounding screech. The two of them seem to be in perfect synergy.

“Keep an eye on you,” Mordecai tells her, “and keep an eye on whatever is going on out there,” he adds, tilting his head towards the marsh.

“Fine with me,” Lucy replies. “Drop me a line if you want the details of my current project. Otherwise, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Try not to.”

Lucy turns to leave, and the loaders swing around to follow her at a safe distance. She realises that Eve has been watching her from several roofs away, and the two of them exchange a wave. Mordecai may not like her, but Lucy is not alone.

Neither, for that matter, is Mordecai.

“I really like your bird,” Lucy calls over her shoulder. “He’s beautiful.”

“Uh,” Mordecai says quietly. “Thanks?”

And with that, Lucy goes home.

* * *

* * *

“I can confirm there have b-been ghost-Jack sightings near the stream,” Karima, unofficial leader of the Highlands, tells Lilith. “We’ve set up some fire t-turrets to keep them at bay.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lilith says. “Have you, personally, seen a ghost?”

“Once,” Karima replies. “I got a good look at it. It was a d-dead ringer for Handsome Jack.”

Lilith tugs on a lock of her own hair, frustrated. This is the last thing that she needs, the last thing that Sanctuary needs, the last thing that Pandora needs.

“But I can also confirm,” Karima continues, possibly sensing her mood, “that these apparitions are absolutely weak to fire elemental damage. If you still have a functioning d-digistruct unit, I can send you the blueprints for our turrets.”

Lilith snorts quietly. Of course Karima has a plan. She _always_ has a plan.

“Sounds good,” she says. “Stay safe out there.”

“You too.”

* * *

* * *

Time passes. Lucy scans cores, strips code, and rebuilds the AI, piece by tiny piece. She turns her radio into an echo mirror, and it makes her feel a little more connected to the world at large, even if there’s no-one she can call.

Mordecai stays hidden – the only real indicator of his presence is the occasional raptor shriek echoing around the town. Also, the local pigeons are acting strangely, but Lucy doesn’t think that’s related.

* * *

* * *

“I have something that may be of interest,” Hammerlock tells Lilith. “An old boyfriend of mine managed to snap a picture of the beastie.”

He slides a photograph across the bar.

“Why are your exes always so helpful and relevant?” Moxxi asks him.

“ _Hey_ ,” Lilith protests. “Mordecai is helpful and relevant, you just don’t appreciate him!”

“ _Mor_ decai,” Moxxi says, explosively. “That man is a little bird who wants to mate for life and spend the rest of his days raising other, littler birds. He’s never going to be happy until he realises that.”

Lilith gets out of her chair loudly, and draws herself up to her not-all-that-impressive height. “You say one more word about my friend, and I’ll—”

“Shall I come back some other time?” Hammerlock asks, with an air of careful joviality. “I’m not much of a referee, I’m afraid.”

Lilith eyes Moxxi for a moment, and then sits back down.

“No,” she says. “Sorry. Let’s…let’s look at the picture.”

The ghost certainly looks like Jack. There’s no mistaking that mask, that poise, that…handsomeness.

“Oh dear,” Moxxi says. “I think I still hoped that somehow, it would be someone else.”

* * *

* * *

One day, quite unexpectedly, Lucy receives an echo message.

“Guardian Angel?” says a familiar voice. “I require your help.”

Jack always used to pride himself on how eloquent, well-spoken, and unflappable his daughter was.

“Uhh,” Lucy says. “Uh, how did you, you know, get this frequency?”

“Oh, I went through Lilith’s things,” says the voice, which unmistakeably belongs to Doctor Patricia Tannis. “She won’t mind, I’m sure. We’re roommates, you know.”

Agtu is staring at her. Lucy shrugs.

“So, what did you want?”

“I would like you to fix the quick-change station in Sanctuary,” Tannis tells her. “It has not worked in months, and I require a disguise for reasons of science.”

“I… see…” Lucy replies. “Can I just. I’m just going to. I have a thing I need to do, and then I’m going to call you right back.”

“I’ll be waiting right beside the phone,” Tannis says. “Or under the phone. Or maybe far away from the phone. It is a mystery.”

“Great,” Lucy says, and hangs up.

Then she contacts Mordecai.

“I need your help,” she tells him.

* * *

* * *

“Do you think it’s okay?” Maya asks, suddenly breaking the silence, “for someone like me to be with someone like Krieg?”

Lilith blinks.

“I think it’s none of my business,” she says. “Also, I’m not really sure what you’re asking.”

“I mean, he’s a psycho, and I’m not.”

“Very astute,” Lilith says, stamping her feet to ward off dampness and small varkids.

“He struggles with words sometimes,” Maya continues. “He seems happy with me, but what if he’s not? What if I hurt him someday because I don’t understand something he’s trying to say?”

Lilith laughs, a little crazily.

“Kid, why are you asking me?” she says. “In my entire life, I have had exactly one romantic relationship and it fell apart and then he died.” Lilith inhales sharply, suddenly keenly aware of Roland… of Roland’s… of what she lost. “Also I’ve had exactly two friends and I sent both of them away. You should talk to Moxxi about this stuff.”

Maya huffs.

“I did,” she says. “Moxxi said many salacious things, some of which I unfortunately understood, and then said ‘ _don’t worry Maya, psychos have their own power_ ’. What does that even mean?”

Lilith glances around, hoping a ghost will manifest and save her from this conversation.

“I guess they kind of do,” she says. “Some of them, anyway. I mean, the badass ones seem to be able to manifest infinite buzz saws. That’s a pretty cool power, don’t you think?”

“But not particularly helpful!” Maya says. “If I wanted useless fairytale-esque rhetoric, I’d have asked Marcus!”

“Actually, that might not be such a bad—”

Lilith falls abruptly silent, and motions for Maya to do the same.

_Splish splash splish splash splish splash_

They move towards the noise, slowly and quietly. Lilith knows from previous attempts that ghosts are destroyed by her phasewalk, but this is their first time trying Maya’s phaselock.

The ghost appears immediately in front of Lilith, nose-to-nose and grinning through an ethereal copy of Jack’s mask. Lilith takes a step back, repulsed. The ghost gives a single, whispery laugh.

“Gotcha!” Maya says, and tries to put a bubble around it. The ghost reels, takes damage, and promptly dissolves.

“Wow, that was fast,” Lilith says. “These things are weak as _shit_.”

“And yet, it resisted being trapped by my phaselock,” Maya says, uneasily. “Either it has some sort of special powers, or that apparition is a lot bigger than it looked.”

“I’m guessing it’s the former,” Lilith tells her. “These things happen.”

“It laughed at us,” Maya adds. “At you. Has that ever happened before?”

“No,” Lilith says, breezily. “But I for one am glad they’re evolving a sense of humour.”

They travel back to Sanctuary in silence.

* * *

* * *

Mordecai crouches on top of Agwun, while Talon lazes on top of Agtu.

“I don’t know,” Mordecai says, shrugging. “I mean, it sounds like Tannis already knows about you. It’s not like I can make her not know.”

“Of course,” Lucy says, a little testily. “But should I, I don’t know, call Lilith?”

“No, no, no,” Mordecai replies. “Lilith has way too much to deal with as it is. We should handle this on our own.”

Lucy nods. She paces the width of the room, and back again.

“Look,” she says, because Mordecai may as well know. “I can’t do what Tannis wants me to do. I lost all my siren powers when I nearly died.”

Mordecai looks startled, and turns his goggles in her direction.

“No phaseshift?”

“No phaseshift, no digistructing, no acting like an AI,” Lucy says, counting the effects off on her fingers. “On top of that, I have this glitch that causes anything electronic to lag when it comes into contact with me.”

“Oh,” Mordecai says, quietly. “So, that’s why,” he gestures at the distance between where Lucy stands and the loaders, “…you do this?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why,” Mordecai says, gesturing at the Claptrap shell, “you’re making an AI?”

“I’m making her to spite my dad,” Lucy replies. “But she’ll be free to do whatever she wants when she’s finished.”

Two pigeons flutter through the window and land on Agtu’s arm, their knife-like claws clinking pleasantly against his chassis.

“We all lost a lot because of Handsome Jack,” Mordecai says, slowly. “I guess you lost a lot, too.”

_But we’re alive,_ Lucy thinks. _We won._ _He’d hate that._

It isn’t enough. But it will be.

“Look, you don’t have to feel sorry for me,” Lucy tells him. “Just help me figure out how to handle Tannis.”

The three birds are perched, side-by-side, across Agtu’s head. Like a family.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Mordecai replies.

* * *

* * *

Lilith examines her living room critically, trying to decide if she’s over- or under-decorated.

“I feel that I could be of more assistance in tracking down these swamp beasties,” Hammerlock says, over echo. “I may not be much to look at, but I know everything there is to know about Pandoran wildlife. And archaeology. And academia in general.”

Lilith hangs another corpse, right next to the door. With Brick and Mordecai gone, there’s nobody to discourage her creativity. And with Talon and the dogs gone, there’s nobody to eat her decorations.

“For example,” Hammerlock continues, “did you know that some of the earliest human civilizations on Pandora used to ritually perform mass burial? Hundreds of thousands of people, dozens of generations into a single grave. No, you don’t. Because nobody knows that kind of thing except me!”

“That sounds irreverent and disgusting enough to be true,” Lilith says. “But also not really applicable to our current ghost problem.”

“Well, what if we disturbed a mass grave—“

“Who all happened to look like Jack?” Lilith finishes for him.

“Perhaps they worshipped him?”

“Ancient civilizations? As in, people who died eons before Jack was even born?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Hammerlock says, flustered. “I’m trying to be helpful!”

One of the corpses falls to the floor with a dull _squish._ Lilith sighs, and tries to imagine what Roland would say in this situation.

“You _are_ being helpful,” she tells Hammerlock. “You’re coming up with theories and we’re ruling them out, together. I need you to keep doing what you’re doing.”

“You need me to be wrong about things?” Hammerlock asks, dubiously.

“Yes,” Lilith tells him. “It’s the only way we’re going to get to the right answer.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy calls Tannis back, and asks her to describe the current state of the quick-change station. Tannis describes a machine in utter disrepair, with several key parts missing, that even phaseshift itself probably couldn’t fix.

“Okay,” Lucy says, gently moving a few sleeping pigeons so she can sit in her chair. “I can’t fix it. But I can tell you how to jury-rig the station so that it works for a few minutes. Would that help?”

“That would be splendid!”

Lucy walks Tannis through the unglamorous process of duct-taping broken machines back together, and awkwardly prodding and coaxing unrelated items into acting as temporary parts. At the same time, she scans through her current most promising AI core. Talon is preening on the windowsill. Mordecai is standing in her tiny kitchen, trying to make tea so weak it’s visually indistinguishable from water.

Today is a pretty good day.

* * *

* * *

“So, hi,” Lilith says, brightly. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Trying to get to the bottom of this weird ghost crap,” Lilith replies. “So, the usual. I miss you.”

Mordecai has exactly two responses to ‘I miss you’. Half the time he says ‘don’t be weird’. But the other half of the time, and today, he says:

“Miss you too.”

“The sooner we can deal with these ghosts, the better,” Lilith says. “How’s your investigation going?”

“Not as well as yours,” Mordecai says, grimly. “But I have noticed one thing. As far as I can tell, only one ghost appears at any time.”

“I noticed that, too.”

“Which means,” he continues, “that theoretically, we could be dealing with a single teleporting entity, rather than multiple different ghosts.”

“Huh,” Lilith muses. “That would mean if we can kill one ghost properly, this problem would disappear for good.”

“Nothing ever seems to be that easy on this planet, but yeah, maybe.”

“Huh. So how do we figure out whether the ghosts are—”

Their conversation is interrupted by loud screaming, coming from Lucy’s cottage. The screams are distorted by distance, but they sound like the words “NO, NO, NO, GET AWAY FROM ME, NO” being howled over and over.

“Whoa,” says Lilith.

“I have to go,” Mordecai tells her. “Something’s wrong.”

* * *

* * *

“DON’T TOUCH ME! NO! NO! LET ME OUT!”

For a moment, Lucy is frozen by surprise and disbelief. The loaders stare at the modified Claptrap unit nervously as it beats the wall with its tiny grip-claws.

_We did it!_

Lucy pulls open the door, then backs up against the far wall.

“Agtu, get out of the way,” she says, firmly. “Let her leave.”

“STOP IT! STOP IT!”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Lucy says, as gently as she can manage. “You can leave if you want.”

For a moment, the robot doesn’t comprehend. It smashes against the wall a few more times, then against a cupboard, then an old locker. And then finally, it seems to comprehend the open door, and sprints through it so quickly that sparks fly from its stair-climbing wheel.

Agwun looks at her quizzically.

“Is that what was supposed to happen?” he asks.

“Yes,” Lucy tells him. “We… we did it! We just destroyed a huge part of Jack’s legacy.”

“She just ran away screaming,” Agtu points out.

“Yes, she’s free to do whatever she wants,” Lucy replies. “That’s the _point_.” Her mouth hurts from grinning so hard.

Operation Obliterate Jack, part 1: restore happiness, is complete. Part two – opening the vault of the Resurrector, and convincing it to resurrect Lucy into the powerful siren she used to be – can finally begin.

Although maybe first she should explain the screaming to Mordecai and Eve, whose worried faces have appeared in opposite windows. Lucy grins even harder, and motions them both to come inside. It’s almost like she has friends.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 2_   
  
  
  
  



	2. Happiness: is a Small Robot

* * *

* * *

Gaige bursts into the headquarters like a small explosion, breathing hard. She looks like she’s just seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” Lilith asks.

“The quick-change station,” Gaige rasps. “Someone dummied it for temporary use, and now the whole this is broken. As. Fuck.”

“It was already broken,” Lilith points out.

“Yes, but now it’s beyond repair!” Gaige tells her. “I was working on getting the parts; I could have fixed it. Now it’s perma-broke.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t _sound_ sorry.”

“Well, you were racing in here like it was an emergency!” Lilith exclaims. “This isn’t really a big deal.”

Gaige draws herself up to her unimpressive full height, and leans against the desk Lilith is using.

“Don’t you care even a tiny bit that someone did this and we have no idea who?” she asks.

Lilith sighs, and shuffles her latest ghost photographs into a pile.

“It could have been anyone,” she says, tiredly.

“Nope. Only a mechanic or an engineer would have that kind of know-how,” Gaige says. “I called Ellie and Janey, and they don’t know anything about it. She-who-must-not-be-referred-to-as-a-mechanic wouldn’t mess a machine up so badly. And I’m the greatest engineer ever, and I certainly didn’t do it.”

Lilith doesn’t answer quickly enough, and Gaige plows on.

“I know you’re super busy with the ghost thing and the Sleets but this is really upsetting me. I don’t like people messing with Sanctuary’s machines. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.”

And with that, Gaige stomps out of the room. Lilith lays her head down on her desk and sighs.

* * *

* * *

Lucy wakes up with the sun. She heaps her pockets full of bladeflower seeds and chunks of meat, and waves to the loaders on her way out. Agtu used to protest, but she’s been feeding the birds every morning for a week now, and nothing terrible has happened yet.

She finds the four pigeons milling around the base of a giant succulent plant. They notice Lucy, and waddle closer as she starts tossing seed onto the ground. Lucy has named each pigeon based on their most obvious physical trait: Spot, Extra Leg, Wormhole, and Fluffy.

The birds peck at the treats, so happy that they don’t even seem to mind that Talon isn’t around. Then Lucy takes out the meat, and the pigeons open their chest-mouths hungrily, catching most of the pieces mid-toss.

Then Lucy hears the very soft, but unmistakeable sound of a weapon being cocked. In a flurry of wings and slag the pigeons scatter into the air.

“You scared the birds,” Lucy says, annoyed. “Really, Agtu, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” says the voice, and it’s a quiet voice, a new voice. “I want some answers, and I want them now.”

* * *

* * *

“The ghosts are learning,” Mordecai says. “I think one of them spoke to me yesterday. It made a noise that sounded like the word ‘sucker’.”

“You think they’re evolving?” Lilith asks.

“I think they’re annoying,” Mordecai tells her. “Like two-legged, spectral hyenas.”

“Did you talk to Eve? It sounds like she’s been hunting these things longer than any of us.”

Mordecai sighs. In the background Lilith hears flapping noises, and the sound of Talon settling down beside him.

“She doesn’t want to talk to anyone,” Mordecai says. “About anything. But based on the warnings she gave Lucy, I don’t think she knows much about them except that they’re dangerous.”

“Huh,” Lilith says. “Well, let me know if you learn anything else. But keep a safe distance away.”

“I think you’re focusing on this too much,” Mordecai says, gruffly. “The Sleets are still our biggest threat, don’t go putting all your energy into hunting ghosts.”

Lilith grinds her teeth.

“I didn’t realise you were the expert on prioritising our enemies,” she tells Mordecai. “Are you taking over as leader of the Crimson Raiders, too?”

“Lily,” Mordecai says, tiredly. “Come on, you—“

“No,” Lilith says, angrily, and disconnects the call.

* * *

* * *

Lucy smiles, despite herself, at the AI. She’s in the empty Claptrap shell, which Lucy had painted in blue and white stripes, and hand-lettered with the name FLCK-TP. _Flicktrap_. The culmination of everything Lucy has worked on until now.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Don’t,” Flicktrap warns. “The last thing I remember is dying. Now I’m alive again. What happened to me?”

“I brought you back to life.”

Flicktrap narrows her eye-light.

“Why?”

“You and I have a common enemy,” Lucy tells her. “He’s dead, but that’s not enough for me. I want to undo the achievements he made when he was alive.”

“Who?” Flicktrap asks.

“Jack.”

The little robot rolls backwards, as if she’s been struck.

“Jack,” she says, quietly. “I remember. I remember what he _did_ to people.” And then she shakes herself, and addresses Lucy again. “So you saved my life, and now I am in your debt,” she says, tiredly.

“Oh no, you don’t owe me anything,” Lucy says, emphatically. “I don’t know how much of this you remember, but Jack built his army on your subjugation. My revenge on him consists of putting you back together, and letting you live out your life in peace.”

“Humans say things like that,” Flicktrap says, her voice rising, “but they never mean it. They always want something in the end.”

“Yeah, I do want something,” Lucy agrees. “I want you to do whatever the hell… hehe… whatever the hell you want, and not get enslaved again. That’s it.”

Flicktrap hesitates.

“Look, I was one of Jack’s pawns too. And he’d be rolling in his grave to know we were both alive and free now,” Lucy adds. “If there’s somewhere you want to go, or someone you want to meet, or if you want to find a spaceship and leave this planet altogether, I’ll try to help you. But you can also choose to never see or talk to me again. I’ve already got what I wanted just by reconstructing you. You’ve already made me happy. We don’t owe each other anything.”

Flicktrap stares at the ground for several seconds.

“How about that,” she whispers. “After all this time, I finally made someone happy.”

* * *

* * *

Lilith sends a message to Axton: ‘ _Any issues with the Sleets lately?’_

While she waits for his reply, she wonders if the Sleets could be responsible for the ghosts. Or if they’re being haunted in the same way. Everything would be so much easier if everyone could be united on the same side, for once.

Axton replies with a photo of himself giving a thumbs-up, while Ellie jumps a car over a row of Sleet corpses.

Lilith doesn’t know what else she expected.

* * *

* * *

“So this is your big project, huh?” Mordecai asks. “Hey, Flicktrap.”

“Hello,” Flicktrap says, uncertainly. “What is your name?”

“He’s Mordecai the Hunter,” Lucy answers. “He works for Lilith, leader of the Crimson Raiders.”

There is a moment of silence while the little robot scans the echonet for information. Then she points one of her grip-claws at Mordecai and says

“You are a mercenary, and a murderer.”

Mordecai seems unconcerned by this accusation.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he replies. “That’s me.”

“So here I am,” Flicktrap says, unhappily. “With two violent Hyperion robots, a bloodthirsty mercenary, and a girl who helped a genocidal dictator murder his way to power. A girl who even now, I might add, will zap me into a stupor if I deign to venture too close to her.”

“That’s not fair,” Mordecai says. “Lucy didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course not,” Flicktrap rages. “She had to follow _orders_.”

Lucy turns to Mordecai.

“Just let her be angry,” she says, quietly. “She needs this.”

“Is this all that humanity is?” Flicktrap demands. “Are you all violent killers and psychopaths?”

“Not… everybody?” Lucy answers, unconvincingly.

“But if you want to know what people are like, you should meet more than just us,” Mordecai says.

“Yeah!” Lucy agrees. “Have you met Eve?”

“Have _you_ met Eve?” Flicktrap parries, glaring. “I spoke to her yesterday, and I can confirm that she’s the worst of all of you.”

“Oh.”

“Have you met Talon?” Mordecai asks, holding his bird out in front of his chest. “He’s a good boy who has never done anything wrong ever.”

Flicktrap makes a tired noise.

“He’s _not_ a human,” she points out. Talon flutters onto her flat, shiny head and proceeds to go to sleep.

“Sanctuary,” says Agwun.

“Oh, yes!” Lucy agrees. “Flicktrap, we should take you to Sanctuary. It’s where some of the quietest, least-bloodthirsty people live.”

“I’ll think about it,” Flicktrap says doubtfully.

* * *

* * *

The ex-Hyperion stooge looks exactly as Lilith had imagined: hair like soft-serve ice cream, flawless skin, and expensive-looking cybernetics.

“Are you sure I can’t just talk to Vaughn?” she whispers to Athena. She’s dealt with the bandit leader of the Children of Helios several times before, and has found him to be relatively reasonable and down-to-earth.

“Rhys is the one who was possessed by Handsome Jack,” Athena replies, at a volume that she probably assumes is a whisper. “In this situation, I recommend speaking with him directly.”

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” Rhys asks.

“Sorry,” Lilith says. “The name is Lilith, leader of the Crimson Raiders. I wanted to get your input on some Jack-shaped ghosts we’ve been seeing recently.”

“We’ve been seeing them too,” someone says from off-screen, immediately next to Rhys. “We wrote them off as a nuisance at first, but they’ve started genuinely scaring people.”

“Bro,” Rhys says, turning to his left. “This is my conversation. I love you, but chill.”

“Hi Vaughn,” Lilith says. Athena looks as if she’s getting a headache.

“So yeah,” Rhys says. “Any idea how to get rid of them.”

“Not yet,” Lilith replies.

Rhys nods, and adjusts his perfectly-starched collar.

“Well, good luck working it out,” he says. “First step is going to be figuring out who, or what, these things are.”

Lilith rolls her eyes.

“Because you know,” Rhys adds, “I’ve literally had Jack inside me, right? And these ghost things? They are not Jack.”

And suddenly, Lilith is interested in what he has to say.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Yes,” Rhys tells her. “Jack is flashy. He likes attention and he likes to frighten people, but he’d never do anything so undignified and unfunny. He wouldn’t just lurch around randomly, he’d be trying to manipulate someone.”

“The ghosts are mimicking Jack,” Athena says, “but they aren’t Jack.”

“Huh,” Lilith says. “That... is very useful information. Thank you. Both of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Rhys says grandly, but he’s interrupted by a female-sounding voice from his right side.

“Is that Athena? Let me speak to her.”

“What?” Rhys demands. “No way. This is my conversation. Start your own!”

Lilith hangs up on what sounds like the beginning of a fight between two teenage siblings, and taps her pen against the desk. She isn’t convinced yet. But it’s useful information, nonetheless.

* * *

* * *

Lucy climbs onto her roof, and finds Flicktrap already up there, with Talon roosting next to her. The rest of the roof is covered with happy, relaxed pigeons. A few magnanimously make room for Lucy to sit near the edge.

“I like this bird,” Flicktrap says, without turning around. “I am glad that after everything, I got to meet him.”

Talon mewls, fluffs up his feathers, and tucks his head into his back.

“Honestly, animals are probably the best part of this world,” Lucy says. “Some of them are vicious, but some of them are just perfect.”

A breeze whips through the air, sending a fine layer of sand scattering around the mostly-abandoned houses.

“It’s the humans I want to know about, though,” Flicktrap says. “Good, bad, or ugly, I want to be sure what they’re like, before I decide whether to stay or to leave.”

“Very sensible,” says Lucy.

“On Elpis, we used to have Scavs,” Flicktrap continues. “They were – well, not the worst of people – but they were abundant and selfish, they’d live anywhere they could, and steal anything that wasn’t nailed down.”

“We have people like that here,” Lucy tells her. “They’re called bandits.”

Flicktrap finally turns to face her, somehow managing the manoeuvre without disturbing Talon or the pigeons.

“I want to go somewhere with lots of bandits,” she announces. “I don’t want to go where people are particularly good or especially evil. I want to observe many bandits over time. And…I would like you to come with me.”

“Really?” Lucy asks, smiling just a little.

“You promised you’d help me get settled,” Flicktrap reminds her. “I’m cashing in on that promise.”

“Excellent!” Lucy says. “I’d be glad to help.”

Perhaps the Vault of the Resurrector will have to wait a little longer, but Lucy doesn’t mind at all.

* * *

* * *

“The new robot wants to explore Pandora,” Mordecai tells Lilith over echo. “Lucy plans to go with her. Do you want me to stay with Lucy, or keep an eye on this swamp?”

Lilith considers this.

“Stick with Lucy,” she says. “Also, can you tell me your thresher theory, again?”

From a few hundred miles away, she can almost _feel_ Mordecai shrug.

“You and Maya keep talking about permanently killing this thing, somehow,” he says. “I’m just saying, what if the ghosts we’re seeing are like tentacles on a thresher? What if there’s a real, bigger body somewhere we need to be attacking?”

“It’s an interesting hypothesis,” Lilith says. “I’ll run it past Hammerlock and Tannis and see what they think.”

“Groovy,” Mordecai says. “By the way, if Athena’s friends are right and this isn’t Jack, do you have any idea what it is?”

“Your mom,” says Lilith, which means she has no bloody idea.

* * *

* * *

The three of them sit at Lucy’s dining table, drinking tea. Well, Lucy is drinking tea, Mordecai is drinking tea-flavoured water, and Flicktrap, at the far end of the table, isn’t drinking anything.

“So,” Lucy says. “You want to meet lots of bandits. Do you have a place in mind?”

“I’d like you to make suggestions,” Flicktrap says evenly. “I’ll research each one quickly on the echonet, and say yes or no.”

“Fine with me,” Mordecai says. “How about somewhere on the continent of Aegrus?”

Flicktrap turns silent and introspective for a moment.

“No,” she says, finally. “Too many animals, and the bandits there are unlike any others found on Pandora.”

“Okay,” Lucy says. “Eridium Blight?”

“No,” Flicktrap tells her, after another pause. “There’s no telling how much the people there have been affected by all that chemical mining. They may not be a representative population either.”

“Arid Nexus,” says Mordecai, sounding almost enthusiastic. “Yeah! That’s where my adventure first started out. We could take you around Fyrestone, and—”

“Nothing there now but toxic waste and junk loaders, according to the echonet,” Flicktrap says. “Pass.”

Talon leans forward and takes a long drink of Mordecai’s water. Flicktrap reaches out, and pats him on the head.

“Ooh, I know,” Lucy says. “The Children of Helios! They’re a bandit clan—”

“Sounds good!” Flicktrap says.

“--formed from disenfranchised Hyperion employees,” Lucy finishes.

“No!” Flicktrap says, just as emphatically. “No Hyperion. Everyone associated with Hyperion is always insurmountably awful.”

“We can hear you, you know,” Agtu says, grumpily, from the far room.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” Lucy says. “I’ve really got it this time! Let’s go to the Slablands. The Slabs are a different bandit group, with no connection to Hyperion.”

The reactions to this suggestion are markedly varied.

“Yes,” Flicktrap says, scanning the echonet. “Just plain old bandits. That’s exactly what I want! We’ll go there.”

“Road trip!” says Agwun, happily.

“Road trip!” Agtu agrees.

“ _What_?” Mordecai says. “No. You can’t just decide to go to the Slablands. It’s a long and dangerous journey. They’ve been out of contact with everyone else for months. They might not even be around anymore.”

“Well then,” Flicktrap says. “Isn’t it time someone visited them and found out?”

* * *

* * *

Lilith finds another ghost, standing in the shallows of the old Outwash Extraction Plant. This time she walks right up to it. The spectre stares back at her, defiantly.

“So,” Lilith says, conversationally. “I have it on good authority that you’re not really Jack. Which makes me wonder: who _are_ you?”

It’s partly a lie. In Lilith’s mind, Rhys alone doesn’t count as an authoritative source on Whether Some Supernatural Thing Is Jack. Lilith needs Lucy’s input to be certain, but Lucy is currently packing up her robots and dragging Mordecai to the Slablands, and that’s too noble a project for Lilith to interrupt.

For a few moments, the ghost just stares at Lilith, malevolently unresponsive. Then, suddenly, it waves one Jack-like hand over its Jack-like face. When it looks at Lilith again it has transformed into a different shape, a different person. It has become a ghostly copy of _Lilith_.

“Well, that’s unnerving,” Lilith says, almost impressed. “So you can look like anything you want?”

More staring and smirking.

“Good conversation we’re having,” Lilith says. “Okay, next question, where do I find the rest of you?”

The apparition smiles more broadly, with more teeth than Lilith actually has. It marches towards her until they’re nose-to-nose. Lilith shudders, but doesn’t back away.

“Well, it’s just southwest of I Ain’t Telling You,” the ghost says, in a horrible, raspy-sounding voice. And then, before Lilith can even respond, it disintegrates right in front of her.

* * *

* * *

“This is a bad idea,” Mordecai says, as the loaders tie the last of the luggage into place.

There are no cars out here in the swamp, and no functioning catch-a-ride stations, but Agwun found an old bus when he was out looking for pieces of Flicktrap, and Lucy has been repairing it in her spare time. It’s nice to work on something she can touch, something that doesn’t experience lag.

“Well, aren’t you the naysayer,” Flicktrap says, unusually cheerful. “It’s just a little trip to see some bandits. You don’t have to come along with us.”

“I _do_ have to come along with you,” Mordecai mutters.

“Sorry,” Lucy says contritely. Mordecai and Lilith are good friends. Lucy wonders why Lilith isn’t giving him a choice in this thing he clearly doesn’t want to do.

“Not your fault,” Mordecai says. “But what I don’t understand,” he adds, jerking his head toward the makeshift gunner seat at the back of the bus roof, “is why _she’s_ coming with us.”

“I go with Lucy,” Eve says, simply. “I’ll travel with you, and then stay on the edges of the Slablands until you’re ready to come back.”

“Those non-local ghosts won’t know what hit them,” Lucy says, grinning.

* * *

* * *

“I don’t know what to make of all this,” Hammerlock admits. “It’s all very odd. Mordecai’s thresher analogy might have merit, but I haven’t the foggiest idea how to go about investigating it.”

“And he could just as easily be wrong,” Moxxi adds.

“I need to figure this out,” Lilith groans. “Before things get any worse.”

“Quite right,” Hammerlock agrees. “Imagine if one of the buggers showed up in Sanctuary.”

“I’d burn it to a crisp before its ghost-feet touched the ground,” Lilith says, vehemently.

“I’d blast it away with Rubi Jr The Second,” Moxxi replies, at the same time. Moxxi had an odd tendency to name all her guns ‘Rubi’, to the exclusion of any other possible name.

“Good show,” Hammerlock says warmly. “I like to think I’d see it off with fisticuffs.”

He raises a glass of Moxxi’s latest experimental cocktail, which bubbles green and yellow froth over the sides.

“Do you, though?” Moxxi asks, after a moment. “Do you need to figure things out right now, sugar? Because it seems to me like those ghosts are getting pretty chatty. Why not wait a little longer and see what they have to say for themselves?”

Lilith considers this.

“Well, I don’t think they’re about to confess their nefarious plans to passing citizens,” she says. “But it might be worth a shot, I suppose.”

* * *

* * *

For the first three days, the trip goes remarkably smoothly. Lucy settles into her vault research, saving clips from the echonet whenever she has free time. On the third evening – when they’ve stopped to let Talon stretch his wings, and Mordecai is deep in conversation with Flicktrap about the old Crimson Lance – Lucy calls Tannis.

“It’s my turn to ask you for a favour,” Lucy tells her. “I would like some information on a vault.”

“My favourite kind of favour!” Tannis exclaims. “What information, and which vault?”

Lucy hesitates for just a moment. Her relay headset is safely tucked away in the cargo compartment under the front of the bus. Nobody should be able to hear her.

“The Vault of the Resurrector,” she says, quietly.

“Oh, don’t even bother with that one,” Tannis says, airily. “It’s almost completely impossible to use. You can’t bring back someone else who is dead, you know. You can only bring back yourself, if yourself happens to be someone who is both dead and somehow capable of independently opening the vault. So, you need to be kind of _un_ dead.”

“That’s just it,” Lucy says, tucking her legs underneath herself. “I am kind of undead, in that I’ve lost my defining siren powers, and I’m a shadow of my former self. I want to open the vault to resurrect myself.”

“Oh,” Tannis says, audibly perking up. “Well, in that case, I have lots of information for you.”

“I want to know about the order of operations,” Lucy tells her. “I’ve done my own research, of course, but you’re the expert.”

“I am,” Tannis agrees. “Well, as I was just telling my ceiling table, the order of operations for the Vault of the Resurrector are as follows. First, and most importantly, you must be yourself and you must meet the Resurrector’s criteria for being undead. There’s no fooling the Resurrector into thinking you’re someone else, since it is a powerful Eridian life form who recognises individuals by their exact temporal and geographical location, and cannot be fooled by disguises.”

“Makes sense,” Lucy says.

“Don’t interject,” Tannis scolds her. “If accepted by the vault, the lucky individual will be transported by the Resurrector back to the exact moment before they died. Finally, the Resurrector will transport that pre-dead body forward in time to the present day. Naturally occurring anti-paradox laws will take care of the rest, ensuring that only a single individual remains, with their mind and non-injurious memories intact, but occurring within the wholly alive, pre-dead body recovered by the vault.”

“Wow,” Lucy says.

“For someone in your situation, it should work perfectly,” Tannis adds. “As long as the vault recognises you as undead in your current form.”

“It certainly sounds perfect,” Lucy says. “Can you tell me more about the vau—”

There is a sudden, sharp knock at the door of the bus, and Lucy feels suddenly uneasy.

“I should go,” she says, quickly. “Have fun with that… uh… ceiling table.”

She ends the conversation, just in time to hear Eve swear loudly from her position in the gunner seat. Mordecai reaches out and opens the door.

Standing right outside is one of the damned Jack-ghosts. Lucy opens her mouth to say ‘ _whoa, that got close_ ’ and then she realises with a lurch why Eve isn’t shooting.

Perched calmly on the horrible, ghostly imitation of Jack’s arm, is Talon.

“No,” says Mordecai.

The ghost strikes a pose.

“Give ‘em hell, Bloodwing,” it says, mockingly. “Good boy!”

“Let me take care of this,” says Agtu, but Mordecai is already launching himself out of the door. He grabs Talon in both arms, like a human baby, and hauls him back inside the cabin of the bus. Talon loses a tailfeather during the scuffle, which spins unceremoniously to the floor.

Flicktrap pulls the door shut behind Mordecai. Agwun hits the accelerator, and they roar up the dirt lane at a hundred miles an hour. Eve wastes the ghost from the roof. Mordecai doesn’t stop shaking, doesn’t release his grip on Talon, until the sun rises again.

* * *

* * *

“Shit,” Lilith says, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“And he was just sitting on this ghost, completely unruffled,” Mordecai tells her. “Like he thought it was a tree, or a friend. I swear, Lilith, for a second I thought I was going to lose him the way I lost Blood.”

Lilith wishes she could reach over the echo device and hug Mordecai, and briefly curses Gaige for not inventing a way to do that yet.

“How is the little guy now?” she asks instead.

Mordecai laughs humourlessly.

“He’s fine. Acting like nothing happened, and I’m the crazy one.”

“But you aren’t,” Lilith says. “He’s fine because your quick-thinking saved him.”

“More like quick-grabbing.”

“Yeah.”

Lilith chews on her lip for a moment.

“So, the ghosts can definitely talk now,” Mordecai says.

“We knew that already,” Lilith says. “But this one knew you. It acted like you. Which means it’s learning about us, about individual people.”

“Maybe just vault hunters,” Mordecai suggests. He sounds, suddenly, very far away.

“Maybe,” Lilith says. “I saw a shapeshifting one the other day. It was still recognisably a ghost but…it definitely looked like me, and not like Jack.”

“Great,” Mordecai says, without emotion.

Lilith clenches her hands into fists.

“You know what?” she says. “Come back. Tell Lucy and Fecktrap—”

“Flicktrap”

“I don’t care. Tell them it’s not safe to be travelling. Tell them you need to come back to Sanctuary now.”

There’s a pause at Mordecai’s end of the line.

“No,” he says.

“What?” Lilith snaps. “You didn’t even want to _go_ on this—”

“That was before,” Mordecai interrupts. “We’re halfway to the Slablands now. Someone needs to warn the Slabs about the ghosts. Someone needs to tell _him_ what you’ve learned.”

Lilith nods, reluctantly conceding. It’s what Lilith would have done, and she knows it. Maybe Mordecai is starting to become her, the same way that she’s had to become Roland. Or, at least, a pale, uncertain echo of Roland.

Lilith was much, much better at being herself.

“Fine,” she says. “But if _anything_ happens to my nephew.”

“Thanks, Lilith,” Mordecai says, and he sounds as if he actually means it.

* * *

* * *

Lucy rides on the roof with Eve for a while.

“It’s nice to feel the wind in your face, isn’t it?” she says, completely relaxed.

Eve is silent for a moment.

“How about those ghost-Jacks?” she asks, after a beat.

Lucy considers this. In the beginning, she hadn’t paid the ghosts much mind. She’d assumed they were some sort of Pandoran beast; perhaps descended from a common ancestor who had gotten too close to Professor Nakayama’s experiments.

But that was before they started talking and coming close, and definitely before one of them touched Talon.

“I think you were right, after all,” Lucy replies. “They are trouble.”

Eve nods.

“Do you think he’s really back?” she asks.

“No,” Lucy says. “I am absolutely certain that Jack is gone for good. If he came back, I’d be the first to know, and I _don’t_ know.”

“Mm.”

“But,” Lucy adds. “These ghosts are wearing his face – in emulation, not mockery – which means I don’t like them either. They’re using the memory of Jack to scare people.”

Eve nods.

For a moment, they sit in companionable silence, and then everything goes to crap. Lucy feels the bus lurch to a sudden, grinding halt, and is nearly thrown from the roof. She hears an unfamiliar voice, loud and threatening, from near the door. At the same time, someone lands on the roof with a metallic _thunk_. The someone turns out to be a marauder bandit, with the horns on his helmet sharpened to stiletto points, and he turns to look at them with spiteful green eyes.

Eve hauls Lucy across the roof and into the gunner seat, elbowing her downwards in an attempt to stuff her out of sight. The marauder walks towards them with loud, confident footsteps.

“You’re all drivin’ pretty close to Sleet territory,” he drawls. “And that’s a BIG mistake.”

“BIG mistake,” echoes the man on the ground.

“So how about you all crawl out of the bus, nice and slow, and maybe we don’t kill ya’ straight away.”

The marauder crouches down, so that Lucy can see the word ‘ELEET’ scrawled across his chest armour.

“That includes the blonde girl in the hole,” he adds, grinning at Eve.

* * *

* * *

Lilith and Maya watch as Gaige faces off against one of the ghosts. Gaige is lit up like a lightning storm, pumping the apparition with ten thousand volts of electricity, as bright blue light snaps and zaps around her hands and arms.

The ghost shapeshifts into…a blob? No, a robot. Deathtrap. It gurgles at Gaige in an approximation of the real Deathtrap’s own cooing, and for a moment Gaige stops her attack, surprised.

“It’s figured out her weakness,” says Maya.”

A moment later, Gaige releases the real Deathtrap, who makes short work of the apparition.

“I’d like to see Krieg try this,” Lilith comments. “I think he’s erratic enough that the ghosts would struggle to predict his movements.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to it,” Maya replies. “He’s really busy with work at the moment.”

“Right, right,” Lilith says. She’d forgotten about Krieg’s job. “How is that going, anyway?”

As if in answer, a rakk rises up from the buildings of Sanctuary and goes screaming off into the sky.

* * *

* * *

“You’s guys are lucky,” the marauder tells them. “Normally we’d just gut ya’, but we’re in need of a vehicle, and you were nice enough to provide one, so we’re lettin’ you live, see?”

The bandits tie Eve and Mordecai to the same tree.

“Fashion disasters gotta stick together,” the marauder laughs. He jerks his head to his bruiser companion. “Destroy the loaders. They’re too big and too strong, we don’t want ‘em coming after us.”

The bruiser switches guns, pulling out a gigantic, corrosive rocket launcher. He grins, and turns it towards Agwun and Agtu.

“Wait,” Lucy says, as the marauder drags her towards a tree. “There’s an easier way to kill them.”

“ _What_?” says Flicktrap, sounding horrified.

“They’re dangerous robots,” Lucy continues. “I’m carrying a specific virus that will neutralise them. I was trying to get close enough when you accosted me.”

“Huh,” says the marauder. He considers Lucy for a moment, then picks her up, and throws her bodily at the loaders. Agwun and Agtu collapse limply on the ground, the usual effect of Lucy’s lag.

“Oh my goodness,” says Flicktrap, horrified.

“Look at that,” the bruiser says, happily, kicking Agtu’s unresponsive metal leg. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that before.”

“Sorry for interrupting your heist, little miss,” the marauder says, almost fondly. “But there ain’t no heisting in Sleet country, you hear?”

“I’ll remember that,” Lucy says. “Are you sure you have to steal the bus? I’d very much like it for myself.”

The bruiser laughs, but his laugh is interrupted by a piercing shriek that seems to come from everywhere at once. An angry ball of fluff and blades goes barrelling right by Lucy’s head, slashing the marauder badly. Lucy sees Mordecai just sort of… slither out of his binds and scale a smooth tree trunk like it’s flat ground, disappearing into the foliage. Lucy runs over to Flicktrap, trying to untie her and apologise and lead her to safety at the same time.

Talon turns midair, and doubles back towards the bruiser with both claws outstretched. The bruiser dives out of the way and Talon goes screaming past.

“What the hell is _that_?” asks the marauder, sounding dazed.

“A thing that wants us to have the bus,” Eve replies, sweetly.

From somewhere in the leaves above, Lucy hears Mordecai readying his sniper rifle.

“He’s going to shoot them, isn’t he?” Flicktrap asks, tiredly. “We’re already winning, but he’s going to murder them anyway.”

“They _did_ try to kill my loaders,” Lucy says quietly. She sits as close to Flicktrap as is feasible, and the two of them wait under the trees until the sound of gunshots stop ringing out, and Eve comes to get them.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 3_   
  
  
  
  



	3. Happiness (ii): Loot

* * *

* * *

Lilith takes a break from worrying about ghosts, and spends an afternoon in the Sanctuary infirmary, just watching the two resident psychos work.

Krieg is currently crouched over an injured and bruised-looking rakk, frowning deeply. His palms are outstretched, fingers pointing skyward. Zed is sitting on a blood-soaked chair, leaning his elbows on an even-more-blood-soaked operating table.

“Just like I taught you,” he drawls.

Krieg throws back his head.

“FIX THE FLESH!” he yells manically, and he lowers both his hands onto the rakk.

As Lilith watches, the rakk’s cuts and contusions fade and shrink, and then vanish completely. The rakk flaps its wings and looks around, suddenly alert and healthy-looking.

Psycho magic.

“Nicely done,” Zed says, and throws open a window. The rakk dives through it, and flaps off ungratefully into the sky.

“Great job,” says Lilith. “Also, you two need to stop releasing rakks into Sanctuary, or we’re gonna end up with an infestation.”

“These rakks have met _me_ ,” Zed tells her. “They ain’t gonna want to stay here after that.”

He takes another wounded rakk from one of his big silver drawers and hands it to Krieg. This rakk is missing both wings, and half a leg.

“Now try with that one,” he says. “I want to see what happens!”

Lilith raises her eyebrow.

“What?” Zed says, defensively. “It ain’t like I know what I’m doing here.”

* * *

* * *

They get back in the bus, and Mordecai drives. Talon sits on his shoulder, chest puffed out with pride.

“Good boy,” Mordecai tells him affectionately. “ _Good_ boy. Good _boy_.”

Flicktrap is curled up next to them, wedged into the space between the driver’s seat and shotgun, her wiry arms curled around her tiny, metal body.

“He murdered someone,” she says, quietly. “A naïve bird – who isn’t even a proper adult yet – murdered another human being because _you_ , his human being owner, trained him to kill.”

“Pretty much,” Mordecai says, without shame.

“ _And_ you also murdered someone directly.”

“Yes.”

“But because of that murdering,” Agtu says groggily, gingerly sitting up, “everyone in our party escaped with their lives.”

Lucy is relieved to see that both of the loaders are starting to come to, and are apparently unharmed by their latest bout with her lag powers.

“All over a _bus_ ,” Flicktrap continues, exasperatedly. “There must be a better, less lethal way to resolve conflicts.”

“What kind of way?” Mordecai asks, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to mush his face against Talon’s back for a second. “You weren’t exactly full of ideas back there.”

Flicktrap considers this.

“That’s a fair point,” she says. “How about this: next time we run into trouble on the road, let _me_ handle it. Give me a chance to prove the merit of my ideals.”

“Sure,” Mordecai says. “As long as Talon doesn’t get hurt. Or Lucy.”

“Deal,” Flicktrap replies.

“We may not have any more untoward encounters,” Lucy calls, from her position halfway down the bus. “We’re getting pretty close now.”

“There’s always something,” Mordecai tells her, sagely.

* * *

* * *

Lilith stands in the Outwash ruins, a bag slung over her shoulder, yelling into the apparently-empty surroundings.

“Come on, you asshole. I want to make a deal!”

She feels nauseous and unhappy; this is _not_ how Lilith the Firehawk prefers to handle threats. But it’s maybe what Roland would have done, or Brick, if either of them were here. And if Krieg can learn to use his nefarious abilities for good, then Lilith should… Lilith should at least _try_ nonviolence.

Lilith hears a very quiet _splish splash_ behind her, and turns to find a ghost, glistening and greenish and mercifully still Jack-shaped.

“Alright, alright, I’m listening,” the ghost rasps, tilting its head to one side.

“Good. Great,” Lilith says, mostly to herself. She opens up the bag, and starts slowly dumping the contents onto the wet grass.

“What’s this?” the ghost hisses.

“Every treasure I own,” Lilith replies. This thing might be a ghost, but it’s sentient, and sentient beings only come to Pandora for one reason: loot.

Two bitch guns. A shotgun with a nigh-impossible 100% accuracy. A rocket launcher with enormous ammunition capacity, and lightning-fast reload. A sniper rifle crafted out of pure platinum, encrusted with rare gemstones. A low-level fire Maliwan that ignites enemies every time, with every shot. Money. Marcus bobble-heads. And heapings of moonstones and eridium.

The ghost eyes the pile, and then Lilith. “What are you holding back?” it asks, curiously.

Irritated, Lilith reaches into her pocket and tosses her final treasure onto the pile. It’s a small silver box, with blue and red markings. There’s a red button at one end, which had been used to open the box back when opening the box was possible. Now it’s just… a box.

“That’s useless to anyone else,” she says. “But it’s important to me, and my friends.”

The ghost examines the box for a moment, then its translucent eyes flash with recognition.

“Ain’t that the Scorpio?” it asks. “It _is_! Your dead friend’s dead gun!”

Brick and Mordecai would be furious with her. Lilith is furious with _herself_. But if it works, it will be worth it.

“Here’s the deal,” Lilith tells the ghost, sternly. “You take all of this, and in exchange, you leave. You don’t come here, to the Highlands, or the Eridium Blight, or the tundra, or Sanctuary, or the Slablands. You either leave this planet, or you stay in the Caustic Caverns, where nobody lives, and you don’t leave.”

The ghost is silent. Lilith breathes heavily a few times, trying to steady herself.

“So how about it?” she asks.

The ghost moves closer to the pile of guns, and then kicks at it with one jackbooted Jack foot.

“Nice try,” it sneers. “But I don’t want any of this.”

“You don’t want _loot_?” Lilith asks, incredulously. “Fine. What _do_ you want?”

The ghost crouches down, and spends a moment scraping around in the mud with its forefinger. The ghosts are getting more corporeal, Lilith realises. Able to touch things with consequence, to send her collector’s edition sniper rifle flying with a kick, to displace dirt with a light touch.

“ _That’s_ what I want,” the ghost tells Lilith, pointing at the mud. And then, unceremoniously, it disappears into nothing.

“Mud?” Lilith asks. And then she gets closer and she can see the symbol that the ghost has drawn: a painfully familiar symbol that looks like an upside down V in a circle.

“Oh,” she says quietly, uneasily. “It’s after a vault.”

* * *

* * *

The next few hours pass peacefully. Lucy lounges on the back seat. She dozes off to the sound of the loaders, arguing quietly about replacement part brands, and Mordecai humming to Talon. She wakes up to a loud, mechanical thrum, and Eve clambering through the window.

“Buzzard,” Eve says. “Looks like a fancy one, probably well-armed.”

“Is it following us?” Flicktrap asks.

“It’s been above us too long for crossed paths,” Mordecai says, gruffly. “My guess is we’re about to have more company.”

Lucy looks out the window, and upward into the sky. The buzzard hovering over them is silver and sleek, with tinted windows and retractable guns. No obvious weak points. As she watches, a side panel slides open, and a masked, dark-haired young woman drops out of the vehicle. The woman is riding a hovering, black-and-white disc; the anti-gravity equivalent of a motorised skateboard. She drops out of the sky and pulls up alongside the bus, easily matching its pace. A moment later, there is a knock on the door.

“Oh dear,” says Flicktrap.

“Hell,” Mordecai says, and the buzzard itself accelerates and drops, landing just a little further along the road.

Mordecai hits the brakes.

“If we crash into something that well-built, this whole bus will fall apart,” he tells them.

“That bandit is right outside,” Flicktrap worries.

“She was masked, wasn’t she?” Mordecai says. “Did anyone get a good look at her mask?”

“Full face mask, grey, with a little black and white bird drawn on it,” Flicktrap replies, tersely. “Is that important right now? We’re under attack.”

Mordecai relaxes a little, and scratches Talon under the chin.

“Magpies,” he says, knowingly. “They’re thieves for hire. High-brow. Believe me when I say, we don’t have anything expensive enough for them to want.”

The woman raps at the bus door again, and Mordecai pulls it open.

“Thank you, good sir,” she says, in a posh-sounding voice. “I’m afraid we’re here to rob you. If you comply with my instructions, the process will be as painless as possible.”

Lucy moves as close as she can without zapping the robots with lag.

“What are you here to steal?” she asks. “We have nothing of value.”

A second masked bandit exits the ship, and starts walking towards them on foot. He has the same mask, and the same dark hair, but he’s taller and thinner than the woman. He looks scraggly, like an underfed adult in the middle of an overdue growth spurt. Or a teenager.

“You havin’ a laugh?” he asks. “You’ve got an actual, living, functional Claptrap unit. There’s only supposed to be one of them in the whole universe, and you’ve got a second one. We’ll take it off your hands, please.”

_Oh shoot. Shit. They’re here for Flicktrap._

“She’s not a real Claptrap,” Agtu says.

“Looks awful real to me,” the boy replies.

The magpie woman reaches for her gun, and so does Mordecai. Lucy is gratified to see that her friend is a faster draw.

“Wait!” Flicktrap says. “No guns. No violence. Let’s talk about this.”

“They’re not going to negotiate with you,” Eve tells her.

The two magpies look at each other for a moment.

“Sure we will,” says the boy.

“Yes,” says the woman, sweetly. “Step onto our ship, and we’ll negotiate.”

For a moment, Flicktrap stares at Lucy, as if trying to see into her very soul. Lucy thinks maybe she understands.

“Agreed,” Flicktrap tells the thieves. And then she rolls off the bus, and starts heading towards the buzzard.

“Wait,” Mordecai says.

“You said I could handle this on my own,” Flicktrap reminds him, and doesn’t look back.

* * *

* * *

Lilith gets back to the headquarters much later than she expected. Most of the others have already gone home, back to their tiny, precious personal lives.

“You have a visitor,” Tannis informs Lilith. “Flowers is here. I may or may not have licked her.”

Sure enough, Karima is waiting in the otherwise-empty room. She’s sitting cross-legged on an oversized table that is technically supposed to be Brick’s desk. The flowers in her hair are slightly askew, and she looks tired.

“Rough day?” Karima asks.

Lilith tosses her bag of loot into a cupboard – careful to not disturb the unfinished Bunkers and Badasses game that is also set up in there – and sighs.

“The ghost wants a vault,” she replies. Then she walks over to the desk and sits down heavily next to Karima.

“W-which vault?”

Lilith shrugs.

“I don’t know. One that contains more than just loot, I guess. It wasn’t very specific.”

Karima pats Lilith on the shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, firmly. “We’ll figure out which vault, and we’ll decide if we want to let the ghost have it, and if not we’ll get rid of it some other way.”

“Yeah,” Lilith says, numbly. Karima always makes things sound so straightforward, but they’re not. Pandora is still the same old shithole. It hasn’t changed just because there are ghosts, or because Angel managed to be a little less dead in it.

Lilith drops her head onto her bent knee. Angel… no, Lucy, and Mordecai should be reaching the Slablands shortly. They’ll be completely out of contact. Lilith is utterly alone.

“Karima?” she asks. “Do you ever miss your husband? Not just because you love him and he meant the world to you and he’s gone, but because now you’re leading everyone on your own, and you’re so, so tired.”

“All the time,” Karima admits. Lilith slings an arm around her shoulders, and they sit together for a long time, too exhausted to move.

* * *

* * *

Felicity rolls on to the buzzard. She doesn’t have a plan – she doesn’t even have the tiniest scrap of a beginning of a plan – but at this point she doesn’t care. She’s so tired of humans and their species-wide penchant for murder. She doesn’t care if she ends up kidnapped by these thieves and sold to the highest bidder; every outcome seems the same to her right now.

There is a third magpie sitting in the cockpit; a slightly older man with the same mask and a strange-looking bracer on his arm. As soon as his colleagues are safely inside, he presses a button and the buzzard door slides shut.

“Sorry about this,” the woman says, merrily, abandoning her posh accent just as quickly as she abandons all sense of diplomacy, “but since you’re trapped aboard our ship, you’re not really in a position to negotiate with us at all.”

Her colleague presses a few more buttons and moves a very high-tech looking gearstick, and the buzzard rumbles to life. It starts to lift off the ground – one foot, two feet – and then just as quickly, the control panel and engines shut off completely, and the buzzard drops like a stone.

Felicity feels just a little bit proud of the human called Lucy.

“What the?” says the magpie boy.

The man at the cockpit lifts his arm, and glowing red words start to emit from his bracer. They read _something is jamming our equipment._

“Oh,” the boy says. “That’s clever! That’s right clever, especially for a Claptrap.”

“I think I’m in the perfect position to negotiate,” Felicity tells them, smoothly. And then, with much less composure, she adds, “And I’m _not_ a Claptrap. I’m an AI currently inhabiting an empty Claptrap shell. My name is Flicktrap… well, my real name is Felicity. I used to run a Dahl vessel called the Drakensburg. I had my entire personality wiped and I was turned into a prototype constructor and then a girl somehow put me back together and I’m _not_ a Claptrap.”

The magpie woman laughs and claps her hands.

“Feel better now you’ve got that off your chest?” she asks. “Don’t know if I believe your story, but it sounds like you’re worth a fortune either way. Come on, little brother, I’m sure we can figure out this jamming signal in a jiffy if we –”

The magpie boy has been motionless and quiet since Felicity started speaking. Very very softly, he asks:

“Did you say your name was _Felicity_?”

* * *

* * *

Lucy dangles from the tail of the buzzard, her toes just barely skimming the grass. Her body gyrates gently to and fro, which is extremely unhelpful.

“How is she gonna learn the complexities of being human,” Mordecai asks, “if you keep helping her?”

“Humans help each other,” Lucy replies, through clenched teeth. “We share tools, we pool resources, we trade, and we travel together.”

_Trade_. Sometimes Lucy likes to pretend that she somehow bargained away her own siren powers. Sometimes she has dreams of…

_…of laying on a pyre, under a single, golden star. Dreams where death itself hovers over Lucy, and offers her a choice: sacrifice and live, or die as you are._

_In the dreams, she opens her eyes for a second, and sees the afterlife stretched out for eternity. And she sees her father – the real one, the actual Handsome Jack – poised to take her hand._

_“No rules in the afterlife, sweetheart,” Jack tells her, in the dream. “Just you and me. I’ll forgive you for everything.”_

_And Lucy will wake up, panicked and afraid, the words ‘take my siren powers, I don’t want to die’ on her lips._

Lucy shakes her head. Everyone has nightmares. And everyone wants to believe that somehow, they have control over their own situation. It is why she seeks the Vault of the Resurrector. It is why Flicktrap is bargaining with bandits right now.

“You okay?” Mordecai asks, quietly.

“Yes,” Lucy replies. And then she asks, “Do you ever have bad dreams?”

Mordecai looks taken aback, which is quite a feat of expression, since less thn a third of his face is visible under his goggles and scarves.

“We’re about to roll into one of mine,” Mordecai answers, his voice somewhere between self-deprecating and miserable. “I go to the Slablands, and find every single Slab is dead. Or they’ve all turned evil, or they’ve been transformed into mindless cyborg drones. Something terrible.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want to come on this trip,” Lucy tells him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mordecai says.

And then, without warning, the buzzard door slides open, and Flicktrap rolls out. Lucy drops to the ground and quickly backs away, fighting down the urge to run over and hug the little robot.

“Unbelievable!” the magpie woman says, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s worth a bloody fortune, and you’re going to let her go just because she’s an old china-plate mate?”

“Not just that,” says the magpie teenager. “An old mate what I thought was proper dead. We can’t take her, sis.”

He pats Flicktrap on top of her head, and the little robot bumps affectionately against his shins.

“That is _not_ how rhyming slang works,” she says. “But I’m glad to see you alive too, Pickle.”

“And we just let her go and walk away with nothing?” the woman demands.

“Actually,” Flicktrap says. “I have got an idea. It’s not a robot – or any kind of technology – but it might be worth something to the right customer. You said you had intergalactic clientele, yes?”

“Yes,” says the-magpie-teenager-apparently-called-Pickle. “We’ve done awful well for ourselves.”

“A friend of mine dropped something earlier,” Flicktrap says, zooming towards the bus. “I’m pretty sure he won’t want it back, and my research tells me it’s exquisitely rare on any planet that isn’t Pandora.”

Mordecai, who has spent the past few moments looking stunned, shakes his head.

“You’re not giving them anything of mine,” he declares.

“I’m not,” Flicktrap agrees. She emerges from the bus a moment later, holding Talon’s discarded feather in her claw. “We can give them this, yes?”

“Huh,” Mordecai says. “Yeah, okay. If they’ll accept it.”

Flicktrap offers the feather to Pickle.

“This is from a bloodwing,” she says. “The white whale of the avian world. The feather was pulled out, not molted, so any potential client can confirm the origin using DNA tests.”

Pickle turns the feather over in his hands.

“Sis,” he says, slowly. “This could be worth some serious bees-and-honey money.”

“I _suppose_ ,” the woman says, grudgingly. And then she bangs on the hull of the buzzard. “Uggo, what do you think?”

A third magpie pokes his head out of the hatch. This one looks a little older than the others. Something about him seems… off. Lucy doesn’t usually make snap judgements about people, but she doesn’t like this third magpie – Uggo – and perhaps she never will.

Uggo holds out his arm, and glowing red words start scrolling across the air. They read: _that is not how rhyming slang works._

The woman sighs.

“The feather, Uggo. Do we take the _feather_?”

More scrolling words. These ones say: _well, we’re clearly not taking the robot._

“Right,” the magpie woman sighs. “It looks like you win this round, Felicity. But don’t think you’ve seen the last of us.”

* * *

* * *

“I think we’ve seen the last of them,” Felicity says, brightly, as they file back into the bus.

“I don’t even understand what happened,” Mordecai tells her, confused. “Did you recognise the Gherkin boy—”

“—Pickle—”

“Whatever. Did you know it was him before you went into that buzzard?”

“No,” Felicity replies, honestly. “I just went in there and resolved the issue. Peacefully, and non-violently.”

“While Lucy non-violently stopped their ride from leaving, and saved your skin,” Mordecai responds. “Metaphorically.”

“I was happy to help!” Lucy calls, from halfway down the bus, and Felicity waves at her.

“Admit it,” she says to Mordecai. “I was right, and you’re just a murderer.”

“ _You_ admit it,” Mordecai says, angrily. “You got lucky. If you’d tried that with the Sleets they would have killed you in seconds.”

“Say whatever you like,” Felicity tells him, airily. “I am feeling very smug right now.”

Mordecai doesn’t respond, and they drive for the next hour or so in silence.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 4_   
  
  
  
  



	4. Happiness (iii): People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>  _Mordecai/Brick time. Also Felicity POV starts, and Lilith POV briefly stops (but will return in a few chapters)._   
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

Lucy is halfway through browsing a dossier of untested theories on the Vault of the Resurrector when the bus brakes hard.

“ _Now_ what?” Flicktrap asks.

“We’re here,” Mordecai says, grimly. “Welcome to the Slablands.”

There are great pointed stones jutting out of the road ahead, sporting several hand-lettered signs. One reads ‘NO VEECLES AHEAD’. Another sign declares ‘SLABS 4EVER’. A third invites the reader to ‘PIS OFF’.

Mordecai retrieves his bags – which both appear to be filled entirely with bird treats – and Agtu retrieves Lucy’s echo device from the undercarriage of the bus, so she can continue to access it through her radio headset.

Eve leaps off the roof and lands lightly on the ground.

“This is where I leave you, kiddo,” she tells Lucy. “If you need me, get to the border. There’s not much I can do in the Slablands.”

Lucy awkwardly, stupidly takes her hand.

“Thank you for everything so far,” she says. “Stay safe.”

Eve ruffles Lucy’s hair, and then in a blur of dust and flapping fabric ends, she is gone.

Talon flutters down and lands on Flicktrap’s head, and Flicktrap points towards the entry to the Slablands.

“Well,” she says, crisply. “Let’s go and meet the Slabs.”

The five of them amble down the dirt road. For several minutes, the surroundings are silent and empty-looking. No guards. No Slabs. Nobody to stop them. Mordecai’s shoulders get more hunched with every step.

“Scanning,” Agtu says. “No signs of life.”

They walk for another few minutes, pass through a second, more internal gate, and find themselves suddenly surrounded by two dozen bandits.

“Trespassers!” says a psycho, accusingly.

“All right, boys, take ‘em out,” an abnormally tall bruiser orders, and the bandits draw their weapons.

Talon launches himself into the air and flees, screaming, deeper into the Slablands. Flicktrap turns to Agtu.

“No signs of life?” she asks. “And you’re sure about that?”

Mordecai grabs the nearest marauder.

“Are you Slabs?” he demands. “Or are you something else?”

The marauder attempts to stab him, and Mordecai disarms him easily.

“Are there Slabs here?” he asks again, more desperately. “Or just regular bandits?”

The tall bruiser pulls out a rusty-looking gun, and points it at Lucy.

“Settle down, little man,” he says, gruffly. “Or I’ll kill the girl right here.”

“I will kill you first!” says Agwun.

“Please,” Flicktrap says. _“Please_. Can we talk about this for just a moment?”

The bruiser takes out a second, equally rusty gun, and points it at Lucy as well.

“Nah,” he says.

* * *

* * *

Felicity feels herself get angry.

“Excuse me!” she says loudly, addressing the entire group of bandits. “I came here to temporarily join the Slabs. Is this how you treat new recruits?”

A flamboyantly-dressed marauder points right at Felicity, accusingly.

“That sounds like something a Sleet would say!” he yells.

“Smell like Sleets,” the psycho agrees. He is very much on fire, and apparently unconcerned by this. Felicity will never, ever understand humans.

“So… _are_ you Slabs?” Mordecai asks, and his voice is hopeful and small, which is completely out-of-character for him.

“You think you can break in here just because you wiped the word off your shirts?” the bruiser demands, waving both guns threateningly. “We can smell you traitors a mile off.”

“Crush you!” a goliath tells Agwun.

“Crush you first!” Agwun replies.

“Stop it!” Felicity snaps. “Stop threatening us. The only person who wanted to come here is me. I wanted to join the Slabs, I wanted to see how you awful humans live your awful human lives. I’m the only interloper, the only trespasser here. These other people are my guides. Their only job was to deliver me safely to the Slab clan. Your…” and Felicity pauses to scan the local thesauri she’d saved off the echonet, searching for the right word, “your… beef is with me only!”

The bruiser turns to Felicity, but keeps his guns pointed at Lucy.

“Did you just call us awful humans living awful human lives?” he demands. “Did you just yell at my men?”

Felicity clenches her grip-claws into fists and glares.

“Yes!”

For a moment, the bruiser doesn’t seem to know how to express himself. Then, finally, he holsters one gun, points at Felicity with his free hand, and grins.

“Coolest Claptrap EVER!” he says, emphatically. “The one in Sanctuary is all annoying and needy and cheerful, but this one hates everything! It’s like a robot bandit!” He nudges the nearly-identical looking bruiser standing next to him. “I bet Vice King Bree will let us keep it.”

“Vice… king?” Felicity asks, uncertainly.

“What about the rest of them?” squawks a marauder, the one who is still being half-strangled by Mordecai.

“Eat them!” yells the flaming psycho.

“That’s settled, then,” the tall bruiser announces. “We’ll also ask Vice King Bree if we can eat them.”

And suddenly two-dozen weapons are being waved at Felicity and her friends, and the bandits are moving them deeper into the Slablands.

“Are they going to eat _us_?” Agtu wonders. “That’s stupid. We are not nutritious.”

* * *

* * *

The Slablands are desolate and desert-like. The forest that lined the road comes to an abrupt stop a few feet past the internal gate. The rest of the landscape is scattered with tall fungi and nasty-looking cactuses, and up ahead Lucy can make out the beginnings of a tiny town cluttering the horizon.

“Why would humans live here?” Flicktrap asks, shaking her head.

“Humans live anywhere,” Lucy tells her. “We’re resilient. And kind of stupid.”

“Tell me about it.”

Some of the bandits laugh at Flicktrap’s joke. Mordecai tilts his head to one side, then the other.

“Do you hear something?” he asks, quietly.

“Don’t try to be clever, goggles,” a nomad tells him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

A few seconds later, the tall bruiser, who is leading the group, stops short. He, too, appears to be listening.

“Oh no,” he says.

“Oh no?” asks a raider.

“ _They’re_ here,” the bruiser says, grimly. “Stop walking, boys. I don’t think we’re getting to see Vice King Bree today.”

All of the other bandits come to a halt. Some look annoyed, others look genuinely scared. Lucy turns to Mordecai, questioningly, but then she hears it too.

“Dogs,” says Agwun.

“Oh, no no no,” Flicktrap protests. “You’re not setting dogs on my friends. I demand to see Bree. I demand a proper trial!”

The dogs emerge suddenly, leaping over a small hill and landing in the clearing. There are two of them, charging right at Lucy and her friends.

Lucy has seen bandit dogs before. Bandit dogs are short-furred and tanklike, with tiny eyes and innumerable battle scars. Hammerlock had once described the typical Pandoran dog as having ‘ _a maw like that of a crocodile, squashed down to fit into the face of a dog, with so many sharp teeth they cannot all fit behind closed lips, and jaws powerful enough to crush diamonds’_. Lucy also knew that bandit dogs tended to be tail-less – due to misadventure, not aesthetic – and very, very angry.

So Lucy is absolutely certain that the two dogs presently rushing at them… are not bandit dogs. They may not even be the same species as bandit dogs. They are fluffy and long-legged, with big eyes and loping gaits and the kind of fur colours one might describe with words like ‘caramel’. Lucy doesn’t have a proper category for these kind of dogs, but she knows in her heart of hearts that they are, if nothing else, Good Dogs.

“Hey girls,” Mordecai says, in a happy-sounding voice Lucy has never heard him use on a non-Talon entity.

Both of the mutts push past Lucy in a flash of silk-soft fur, and launch themselves onto Mordecai.

“Hey girls,” he says again, just barely managing to stay upright. “Hi. I think you’ve both gotten even bigger since I last saw you.”

“Sir?” Agwun asks. “Do you know these dogs?”

“Lucy, look,” Mordecai says, hauling one dog into his arms while the other one circles his legs, “this is Freckles. She’s the pretty one.”

Freckles licks Mordecai’s face. Lucy waves at the dog uncertainly. Mordecai releases Freckles and she climbs on his shoulders, behind his neck, like an elegant-but-unwieldy scarf. Then he grabs the second dog from the ground.

“And this is Russet, the smart one,” he tells Lucy. “They’re sisters.”

The bandits around them are getting increasingly uncomfortable, as far as Lucy can tell. They were apparently not expecting Mordecai to be friends with the dogs.

“Where’s Talon?” Mordecai murmurs, apparently unaware of his surroundings. “He missed you two so much. He’ll want to say hello.”

Something else – something much bigger than Freckles and Russet – comes barrelling over the hill. It’s a human man; one who looks slightly taller and three times wider than even the biggest bruiser. His hair is buzzed close to his head, and he’s wearing various toolbox contents as accessories. Most importantly, he’s holding Talon to his chest, the way that one might hold a human baby. And Talon seems just fine with this treatment.

“Brick!” Lucy says, excitedly.

The dogs promptly abandon Mordecai, and Talon wriggles free from Brick’s grasp, and the three animals collide on the ground in a flurry of happy tumbles and paw-pats and affectionate head-bumps.

“Mordy!” Brick says, and for a moment it looks like Brick is going to embrace Mordecai and Mordecai is going to let him.

And then Mordecai crosses his arms over his chest and looks away.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he says, his tone painfully matter-of-fact.

Brick puts his right hand on his enormous left bicep.

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

“Brick!” Lucy says, pushing past a few unresisting bandits. “Brick, it’s me, Angel.”

“Seriously?” Brick asks, eying her. “I thought you were dead.”

“She’s alive,” Mordecai tells him. “And she brought some robots to visit you.”

Brick scoops Lucy up, and hugs her. Lucy holds on tightly; it’s been a long time since anyone hugged her.

* * *

* * *

Brick takes them on a tour of the Slablands. He points out the succulent farm, the armoury and forge, and the abandoned communications building where they used to try and combat the Sleets jamming signal. Brick also gives them the keys to what he describes as the ‘least terrible digs’, a set of little one-room buildings close to Brick’s own home. And finally, he assigns one of his more intelligible Slabs – a nomad who calls himself Dale – to help Felicity learn about bandits.

With the loaders getting unnecessarily excited about bunk beds and Mordecai looking and acting like a wet noodle, Felicity figures it’s as good a time as any to start learning.

“What would you like to see first, miss?” Dale asks her, as they set out. “The farm? The skag hunters? The Slab dormitories?”

Felicity considers this.

“Is there a place,” she asks carefully, “where the Slabs keep record of their conquests and battles?”

“That’d be the trophy room,” Dale tells her. “It’s not too far from here. We can go now, spend a few hours there and be back by sunset.”

“Perfect,” Felicity replies.

Dale leads her to a dilapidated-looking building southeast of Brick’s house. When they reach the building, they run into another nomad blocking the top of the rickety entry stairs. This nomad seems younger and better armoured than Dale. Felicity can just make out an enormous pair of goggles and a thick blonde braid visible beneath her shiny helmet.

“Vice King Bree,” Dale says, saluting. “I was just taking this visitor to see the trophy room. She is a guest of the Slab King himself.”

“That’s great,” Bree tells him, her voice a complete, absolute deadpan. “Have fun with whatever you’re doing, or whatever.” And then she backflips off the side railing, lands easily on the ground, and walks away.

“The royalty around here really aren’t what I expected,” Felicity tells Dale, as he ushers her inside. “I thought they’d be more… regal.”

She looks around. The Slab trophy room is an archivist’s nightmare. A few bits of corpses have been nailed to one wall – fingers and feet and various facial features, all poorly preserved. There are logbooks piled onto a table. Felicity flips through one and finds it detailing everything from murder of so-called Sleets to ‘that one time Harris threw a stink-bomb at a rakk he didn’t like’. In one corner of the room, a few columns have been etched into the wall, containing varied numbers of tally marks. The column labelled ‘Brick’ has the largest number of marks, followed by the column one labelled ‘Bree’, then the one labelled ‘Evry1 else’.

Nailed to the centre of what remains of the ceiling, in what Felicity assumes is a place of pride, is a single black hat. Felicity recognises it as some sort of wild-west style, but is otherwise mystified. One section of wall has been painted white, and is filled with scrawled accounts of various atrocities against other humans. At the bottom, someone has written _‘we’re running out of wall, idiots, use the post-it notes provided’._ And below that, in very tiny letters, someone has added a cryptic question ‘ _when will the Slab Queen return?’._ And next to this, in what looks like fresh ink, someone has scrawled today’s date.

“Well, that’s ominous,” Felicity murmurs.

The adjacent wall is full of post-it notes, a number of which also seem to have drifted to the floor. These, again, detail various acts of violence and murder, although the handwriting on most is nigh unreadable.

A single locker has been decorated with a beautiful drawing of a burning siren, and the words ‘ _the Firehawk will rise_ ’. Underneath this someone else has written, _come on, guys, no cults._ The locker is empty, save for a single plastic doll of a fat man with a goatee wearing sunglasses. Someone has defaced the doll with the word ‘ _gunbringer_ ’ using a sharpie. Felicity gingerly puts it back and closes the locker.

“What do you think?” Dale asks. “Does this have what you need?”

“This will do nicely,” Felicity tells him.

* * *

* * *

“Do you think there are ghosts here?” Lucy asks, stretching out on her bed. She’s sharing a room with Mordecai, of course, since he’s the only member of her current company who doesn’t lag when she gets too close.

“I don’t know,” Mordecai says. He scrubs both hands over his face. “I don’t know what to think about the ghosts any more. I mean, are they bad? Or are they just spooky?”

Lucy shifts uncomfortably.

“Well, they seem to be deliberately scaring us. And the one that appeared during the ride here was definitely mocking you.”

“Right, right,” Mordecai says, getting to his feet. “But that’s exactly the problem. You and Lilith and the robots and me, we’re all fallible. We’ve got eyes that play tricks on us; we can be fooled by illusions and disguises. But if there’s one person who maybe wasn’t fooled… who maybe managed to see through that ethereal glamor bullshit… who had a chance of seeing whatever that ghost really, actually was…”

“Talon,” Lucy says, softly.

Mordecai looks at his gloved hands, and then closes them slowly into fists.

“I trust him more than anyone else,” he says. “I trust his eyes more than anything else. After what happened on the road, when he landed on that ghost, I honestly questioned his judgement. But after everything we’ve been through,” and here Mordecai pauses to shrug, “I trust Talon.”

Lucy smiles harder, in an attempt to mask her unease. She does not share Mordecai’s faith in the bird.

“It must be nice,” she says, “to be so closely bonded with another living creature.”

“Yeah,” Mordecai tells her. “It is.”

Lucy waits a few seconds, and then says:

“But you know who else might have information? Brick. We haven’t even asked him if he has ghosts here, or what they’re like, or what he thinks of the ones that we’ve encountered so far.”

“Uh,” Mordecai says, but Lucy ploughs on.

“You’re his friend, aren’t you? Why don’t you go up to the house, and find out what he knows?”

“I’m not… I really—”

“You have literally nothing else to do right now,” Lucy reminds him, her smile now very much genuine. And smug.

Mordecai sighs.

“Fine,” he says tiredly. “I’ll go. Just… just stay out of trouble, okay?”

* * *

* * *

Felicity reads four pages of a log book. The pages are narrow and the handwriting is bulky and full of scribbled-out mistakes, but those four pages detail over one hundred and fifty senseless deaths. Over the space of a week! Whichever Slab recorded the event seemed to be uncertain whether the slaughtered masses were Sleets, or just lost bandits. But they described blood spilling and spraying, blades and bullets, maiming and death, with meticulous detail. And with relish.

Felicity feels ill. She sets the book down, and tells Dale she is done for the day. And then she rushes back, over the tiny hills, around the stinging succulents, around Lucy’s lodgings, and into the back of Brick’s house. She finds Talon in what appears to be the kitchen, and he presses up against her comfortingly as she holds him.

“They just kill other humans without even knowing who the other humans _are_ ,” Felicity tells him, voice shaking.

Talon makes a gentle mewling noise and taps the top of her chassis with the back of his beak.

“There were so many more pages in that book,” Felicity blubbers. “Humans are the worst.”

Talon, who has no idea what she is saying and a limited number of comforting responses, makes himself very fluffy and sits down next to Felicity.

“You should run away,” Felicity tells him. “Animals should not be pets, you should run far away from every human you meet. And so should I.”

Felicity hears voices from Brick’s living room, and peers through the doorway, already angry at whatever else these humans have to say for themselves.

“Lilith is fine, I think,” Mordecai tells the Slab King. “She’s doing a good job of leading the Raiders. And Tina has gone to live with Axton and Ellie, but I hear she’s fine too.”

“Glad to hear it,” Brick says, in his deep, rumbly voice. He’s sitting on a beaten-up couch in the middle of the room. Mordecai is standing near the door, his weight on the balls of his feet as if he might flee at any second.

“Of course,” Felicity mutters. “They don’t like each other. Why am I not surprised?”

“Everyone in Sanctuary is doing pretty much okay,” Mordecai adds, counting on his fingers people that Felicity has never heard of. “Krieg is training to be a healer, Gaige alternates between genius and nuisance, Zero is offworld for a bit—”

“They were always too talented for Pandora,” Brick interjects.

“Probably,” Mordecai says. “Athena has pretty much forgiven us for capturing her, Moxxi is currently single, Maya is still trying to figure out where she fits in, although she fits in just fine. Everyone is pretty much the same. Oh, Daisy stopped faking her death all the time. Now she only does it for special occasions.”

“That’s growth,” Brick says, approvingly. And then he adds “I’m glad everyone is okay. I get worried sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Mordecai says, flatly.

Silence falls, punctuated only by Russet’s tail hitting the wall, over and over again, while she dozes in a basket in the corner.

“Hey,” Brick says, quietly and gently, “I missed you.”

Mordecai springs back like he’s been stung, and points his finger right at Brick.

“No!” he snaps, loudly. “Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that!”

Brick looks as bewildered as Felicity feels.

“I’m just saying—” he begins, and Mordecai cuts him off.

“No! Just, just stop. I missed you way more; you don’t get to talk like you’re the wounded party here!”

Brick looks… happy? He gets up from the couch, and takes two steps towards Mordecai. And Mordecai takes three steps towards the door. Something about his current demeanour reminds Felicity of a very angry – if overdressed – cat.

Talon abandons Felicity and trots into the living room. Mordecai doesn’t seem to see him.

“We’re here for a couple of days,” Mordecai tells Brick. “A couple of weeks at the most. Then Lucy and Flicktrap leave, and I have to leave with them. And then you and I won’t see each other for years. Maybe longer. I don’t want to relive how I felt when you first came here. I’d rather pretend I’m not here at all.”

“Ooh,” says Brick, as if he somehow understands Mordecai’s vitriolic blathering. “Good point.”

“We should just avoid hanging out or talking to each other, unless we need to,” Mordecai says, and now he sounds like he’s pleading. “It’ll be more painless that way.”

Brick doesn’t answer right away. He appears to be thinking hard. Felicity is almost certain she can see his lips moving.

“I agree,” he says, finally. “But I have one question.”

“What is it?” Mordecai asks, wearily.

“Well, you’re here,” Brick says. “And I’m here. And so is my complete collection of illegally-downloaded _Derby of Dominions_ episodes. _And_ a working monitor. And you lost the coin toss, which means you have to watch them with me at some point.”

Mordecai gapes at him.

“Why?” he says. “How? Did you plan this?”

“Do I ever plan anything?”

Mordecai runs one hand down his face, to the ends of his beard.

“Okay, fine,” he says, magnanimously, exhaustedly. “Let’s watch your show.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy spends some time reflecting on her last conversation with Tannis, on the vault’s order of operations. She tries to picture the sequence of events in her mind, and is interrupted by Agwun knocking at the door.

“Hey, buddy,” she says cheerily.

“Hello,” Agwun replies. “Agtu and I were wondering,” and here Lucy sees Agtu’s head pop up just past Agwun’s shoulder, “what happens next?”

Lucy tilts her head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“You delivered Flicktrap to the Slablands, as you promised,” Agtu rumbles. “What will you do now?”

“I… don’t know,” Lucy says, a little taken aback by the question. “I haven’t asked Flicktrap if there’s anything else she needs yet. And we have to consider Mordecai; there’s only one bus, so we can’t just leave without him. Why do you ask?”

Agwun casts his eye downwards.

“Your lag is getting worse,” he says.

“Longer,” Agtu clarifies. “It’s hard to tell on loaders like us, because of our shutdown protocols, but we’ve noticed it's effect on smaller electronics.”

“What started as a ten second lag is now a forty-five second lag,” Agwun says, worriedly.

Ah, so they’ve noticed.

“We think you should go straight to Sanctuary after this,” Agtu tells her. “They have the best healer and the best mechanics. Someone might know how to fix your condition.”

Lucy smiles sadly.

“You’re such good bots,” she says. “I wish I could hug you. But please, don’t worry about the lag. I’ve got it under control, it’s not affecting me in any way, and it’s been days since I accidentally touched something electronic.”

The loaders look at each other, communicating on some plane that Lucy doesn’t – and may never – understand.

“I believe you,” says Agtu, after a moment.

“Yes,” Agwun adds. “We trust you, and we trust your judgement.”

“Everything will be okay,” Lucy reassures them. “Somehow, we’re all going to make it through this.”

Agwun flashes her a thumbs up, and the two loaders leave. Lucy fondly watches them wander back to their dormitory. Then she looks uneasy.

“Forty five seconds,” she murmurs. “Shit.”

* * *

* * *

Felicity spends the next hour hiding in Brick’s kitchen, watching the most graphically and unnecessarily violent and upsetting echonet show she has ever seen.

“Even _fictional_ humans don’t talk to each other,” she whispers to Russet, who is curiously watching her from about a foot away. “This is just… just propaganda for more violence!”

She is slightly mollified by the fact that Mordecai doesn’t seem to enjoy the show either. He recoils at some of the worst scenes, and spends the rest of the time filling the room with a running overly-critical analysis of the plot.

“See, this is stupid. Everyone’s arguing about who gets to rule the kingdoms, and nobody is trying to figure out how to kill the ice monsters. Talk about crappy priorities. And why are there so many dragons? This series would be much more appealing with fewer reptiles and more birds. Oh, the main guy just died, that was fast. Are we done?”

Brick doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really look at the screen, either, he just stares at Mordecai and pats Freckles, who is curled up in the space between them.

“All the characters are obsessed with revenge, and getting what they’re owed,” Felicity tells Russet, quietly. “It’s sickening! All right, I admit I don’t like torks, but it’s not as if I’m going to go and stab Athena for wiping my personality. I mean, I could. But I won’t. Because I’m not a human.”

“I’ve given up trying to tell people apart,” Mordecai declares calmly. “I’ve decided everyone with the last name ‘Stark’ is the same person.”

Brick chuckles, and then holds out one bowling-ball sized hand, palm up, in Mordecai’s direction. Mordecai glances at it for a moment, then turns back towards the monitor.

“Do you think they’re going to fight?” Felicity asks Russet.

“Woof,” Russet replies, and gently head-butts the side of her chassis.

Mordecai looks at Brick’s hand again, and shakes his head so hard his ponytail swings. Then he takes Brick’s hand in both of his own – his gloved fingers comically tiny by comparison – and pulls it against his chest.

“I hate,” he says, and then stops, and then struggles to start again, “I hate the way people keep dying from their injuries. Is this what would happen to us if we didn’t have Zed? Also, why direwolves? Why not regular wolves – they’re pretty scary too. This show is badly written.”

And, standing in that kitchen, for the first time in her entire existence, Felicity feels an emotion she can neither categorise nor explain.

* * *

* * *

The next day, Lucy goes with Flicktrap to the trophy room, partly out of curiosity, but mostly because Flicktrap asked her to.

“What’s the worst fight the Slabs have ever been in?” Flicktrap asks Dale, before they’ve even gotten through the doorway. “The bloodiest, most brutal battle?”

Dale scratches his head for a moment.

“I reckon that would be the Great Divide,” he says. “Back when the Sleets first broke off to form their own group. It was a terrible fight.”

“Whoa,” Lucy says, softly. “The Sleets used to be Slabs?”

“They sure were,” Dale tells them. “Except they thought they were better than the other Slabs. They started calling themselves the Slab Elite, but over time I guess they just shortened it to Sleet.”

“And I suppose the two factions couldn’t amicably part ways,” Flicktrap says sourly.

“The Sleets wanted the King to go with them,” Dale tells her. “But they didn’t ask nicely – or at all. They decided if they massacred the rest of the Slabs, he’d have no choice.”

“Why did they want Brick so badly?” Lucy asks.

Dale shrugs, which is quite a dramatic gesture on someone with as much shoulder-armour as a nomad.

“Well, he’s the king. He’s something of a status symbol. The Sleets care about things like that.”

“And the battle?” Flicktrap asks, sounding impatient.

“I wasn’t there,” Dale tells her. “I joined up afterwards. But they say the battleground is still stained red with blood to this day. They say thousands of Slabs and Sleets just tried to rip each other apart with whatever they could find. Harris told me he disembowelled a Sleet using nothing but a plastic mixing bowl, and I believe him.”

“That sounds awful,” Flicktrap says. “But unsurprisingly so.”

“They say nobody could stop the bloodbath,” Dale continues, apparently on a roll. “The King and his friends tried repeatedly to move the Slabs to safer ground, but they kept running back into the fight faster than the Firehawk could zap them out of it. Everyone was so very angry. There was nothing that could be done.”

“They were all Slabs to begin with!” Flicktrap exclaims. “They all followed Brick, or wanted to. Are you seriously telling me that they couldn’t have found some other solution?”

Dale looks at Flicktrap for a long moment.

“You ever been angry, miss?” he asks.

“I’m angry right now!”

Dale laughs briefly.

“You ever had people?”

Flicktrap looks at Lucy in askance, and Lucy shrugs.

“I don’t know what that means,” she admits.

Dale nods, and stares, for a moment, at the hat on the ceiling.

“When you have people – a person or persons who are in your care, who you feel responsible before, who you feel like you have to protect, no matter what – then you’ll know what it's like to be properly angry.”

“Everything you just said is nonsense!” Flicktrap tells Dale, crossly. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Lucy watching her, softly and affectionately. She turns away.

“How did it end?” Lucy asks.

Dale sits back in his chair, and taps his fingers against each other.

“I’m not completely sure,” he says. “Some folk say both sides mutually realised that, with all the dying and hurting, they were getting too close to the Obsidian Aftermath.”

“Which is?” Felicity asks, tiredly.

“The nuclear option,” Dale explains, “doomsday bad guy, planet explodes, sky falls down, that kind of thing. I don’t know exactly what it is, or how it’s supposed to come about, but I know the King and his friends worry about triggering it sometimes.”

“It sounds like humans would be thrilled with that.” 

“Maybe. Anyway, folk also say that all the vault hunters got together. The new ones, the King’s friends, the ones from the moon, all working and fighting cooperatively. And somehow, that stopped the carnage. But not before a lot of people died.”

“Now _that_ ,” Flicktrap says, smugly, “is the kind of story I was hoping to hear. Thank you very much, Dale.”

* * *

* * *

That night, Felicity goes back up to the house. She isn’t quite sure why. When she arrives, Brick and Mordecai are at the beginning of a new episode of _Derby of Dominions_ , and their three pets are waiting for Felicity in the kitchen.

“Oh,” she says, momentarily lost in a sea of fluff. “Hello to all of you.”

Mordecai and Brick are sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. Today, Brick is wearing slightly fewer sharp pieces of metal than yesterday. Mordecai is balancing a notepad and pencil on his knee.

“I predict,” he says slowly, “that the dragon will die next.”

“Which dragon?” Brick asks.

“There’s more than one? Crap.”

They both laugh awkwardly. Onscreen, one armour-clad character slices another in half with a sword. And then Brick just sort of… flops down on his side on the cushions, like an exhausted child, with his legs kicked over one sofa-arm, and the top of his head an inch away from Mordecai’s thigh.

“I wish you could stay here and not leave,” he rumbles. “The girls miss their co-parent.”

Mordecai reaches out and flattens one hand against Brick’s head.

“Tell them we’ll all be together again,” he suggests, and his voice is gentle and sad. “Tell them one day, the five of us will all live in Sanctuary, in the triplex next door to Lilith, just like we used to do.”

“You don’t believe that,” Brick tells him.

Mordecai leans his weight on his free arm, and scoots a few inches towards Brick. Brick lifts his head, and then puts it down on Mordecai’s knees, knocking the stationery aside. Onscreen, three people are burned to death by a dragon.

Felicity doesn’t know what to feel.

“I still want to, though,” Mordecai says.

The humans watch the rest of the episode in silence. And then it ends and Mordecai gets up to leave. And he hugs Brick, or maybe Brick hugs him, and they spin around enough that Felicity can see the smiles on both their faces.

“This is what they should have done when Brick first came running over that hill, isn’t it?” she says to Talon. “Oh dear.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy is awakened by someone rapping at the door.

“Morning, Flicktrap,” she says, sleepily.

“Good morning,” the robot replies. “I need to talk to you, preferably somewhere private.”

Lucy rubs her eyes and glances around her dormitory.

“Mordecai and Talon went off hunting at sunrise,” she says. “We have this room to ourselves. Just stay near the door after you close it, and my lag shouldn’t affect you.”

“All right,” Flicktrap agrees, rolling just past the threshold and securing the door. “It’s about Mordecai and his friend Brick.”

Lucy tenses up, ready for a fight.

“Are they in danger?”

“No!” Flicktrap replies, and Lucy exhales deeply.

“Okay, cool. So you want to talk about something that falls under your usual position of hating-humans-because-we’re-all-killing-machines paradigm, right?”

“Not that either,” Flicktrap says. “Lucy, I’ve been spending time with the two of them and they are… they’re _cute_.”

Lucy blinks.

“Could you repeat what you just said?” she asks. “I don’t think I heard it correctl—”

“They care about each other very much!” Flicktrap ploughs on. “They’re affectionate and gentle and sad and they cannot communicate to save their wretched lives!”

Lucy tilts her head to one side. It hadn’t really occurred to her that Flicktrap could have led such a sheltered life.

“Humans are like that,” she says. “We’re complicated. We’re not all violence, all the time.”

“But I used to dislike them, and now I’m _fond_ of them,” Flicktrap exclaims. “Am I broken? Maybe you didn’t bring me back correctly.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” Lucy says, with a tiny smile, “because you’re perfect.”

“But—”

“—it’s _okay_ ,” Lucy says, interrupting Flicktrap’s protest. “You don’t have to hate every single human. You can change your opinion, it doesn’t make you any less of yourself.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Flicktrap says, tiredly. “But I don’t like it one bit.”

* * *

* * *

That night, Felicity waits until she sees Mordecai leave, and then a few minutes more before she goes up to Brick’s house. It’s become a habit, subjecting herself to horrid echonet shows and horrid feelings and distinctly un-horrid pets.

Freckles is waiting for her in the kitchen, tail wagging like a metronome in _prestissimo_. Felicity rubs the dog’s head and ears, marvelling at the way her cream-colored coat never seems to get dirty or stained.

Brick and Mordecai are sitting right next to each other on the couch, pressed together like slightly cold pigeons. This episode of the show begins with one human skewering four others on the same, oversized broadsword, and then looking sad about it. Then, unexpectedly, the scene freezes.

“Hang on,” Brick says. “Dale made cookies today. I thought I could enjoy eating them – and you could enjoy refusing to eat them – while we watch this episode.”

“Sounds good,” Mordecai replies, happily. From his shoulder, Talon makes a mewling noise of agreement.

And then Brick clears the room in about two steps, and suddenly he’s in the kitchen, staring down at Felicity.

“Flicktrap?” he asks, sounding astonished. “What are you doing here?”

Felicity panics. She absolutely cannot tell him the truth, and she definitely doesn’t have a suitable lie prepared.

_Tell him you’re stealing food. No, wait, you can’t eat. Tell him you’re visiting the dogs. But that’s still trespassing. Tell him you’re a stupid computer who got lost. Tell him any lie!_

Brick points one of his massive index fingers at her.

“I figured it out,” he tells her, smugly. “You wanna watch the show with us, right?”

If Felicity could breathe, she’d heave a sigh of relief.

“That is absolutely, definitely it,” she tells Brick. “I want to experience human echonet shows. I’m sorry for intruding, I should have asked first.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy is sketching out what she knows about the layout of the vault, when she hears a _thump_ against the closed dormitory window.

“Come in?” she says, hesitantly. They’ve been here nearly three full days, but Mordecai still hasn’t asked Brick whether there are ghosts in the Slablands. Lucy would really rather not find out firsthand.

For several minutes, nothing happens: nobody knocks on her door, or suddenly manifests in her room, or attacks her. Lucy decides it was probably a stray varkid, and goes back to her scribbling.

And then there are three more thumps, in rapid succession, on the other side of the much-abused window. Lucy rolls her eyes. Varkids are _so_ bad at navigating, especially the larval ones.

“You’d better not be forming a pod out there,” she calls, and again, turns back to her work.

The Vault of the Resurrector is shrouded in myth and legend, but perhaps a little less so than other vaults. There are no reports of a giant monster or creature to fight; instead the rules of engagement themselves seem to be the only form of security. If Tannis’ calculations are right – and they generally are – the vault should become accessible again ten weeks from now.

Lucy fumbles and drops her pencil. It rolls across the length of the floor. Then it rolls _up_ the wall, and comes to rest on the inner ledge of the closed window, vibrating furiously. Lucy gets up and examines it.

“Okay, that’s weird,” she says to the pencil. “Why are you defying gravity?”

It’s as if someone has turned on a vacuum, or there’s some kind of… wormhole. With a gasp, Lucy throws open the window, and there, sitting on the outer sill are Spot, Extra Leg, Wormhole, and Fluffy.

Her pigeons.

“You guys came here!” Lucy exclaims, happily. “I mean, I know it’s probably for Talon and not for me, but I’m still so happy to see you!”

The pigeons blink at her exhaustedly. Spot wobbles. Fluffy falls over, glitches briefly out of existence, and then gets back up again. Lucy gathers them all up and puts them on her bed. Then she brings them water and peas from Mordecai’s uneaten dinner. And then meat chunks for their second mouths, and mushrooms for their third mouths.

“See,” she tells them. “This place even has edible fungi! You’re going to love it here.”

The pigeons doze on her bed, cooing appreciatively. Lucy settles herself on the floor, hoping to get some more work done before Mordecai gets back.

* * *

* * *

Brick leads Felicity back to the sofa, and Mordecai waves to her, and they un-pause the show. The two men squash each other even more, as if Felicity’s tiny Claptrap body will require the space of two entire cushions.

And just like that, Felicity is an invited participant in this… this nightly demonstration of human gentleness. And, apparently, enthusiastic dog licks.

“Freckles, down,” Brick says, softly. “Sorry. She likes licking metal. She’s pretty stupid.”

Onscreen, a human is beheaded. Many other humans cheer. The camera pans slowly over the decapitated form, and the copious amounts of blood on the ground.

“Ugh,” Felicity says, under her breath.

Brick pulls four cookies out of a paper bag, and crams three of them into his mouth in a sideways stack. After he’s finished chewing, Mordecai says “aw, I wanted one”. Both men laugh as if this is a very funny joke. Talon steals the fourth cookie and runs out of the room with it.

Onscreen, someone dies in horrible agony after being poisoned by another character. Then the show cuts to a scene where a single human defeats an entire army of different humans by killing each and every one of them with his sword, in rapid succession.

When the episode is over, Brick picks Mordecai up from the couch like a ballerina and sets him back on the ground. Felicity is confident that if anyone else had tried that, Mordecai would have killed them immediately. But in this moment with Brick, he just gives a tiny, lopsided smile.

Felicity feels something harden in the robotic equivalent of her heart. _These two_ , she thinks sternly, decisively, _are my people._

_And I am going to protect them_.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 5_  
  
  
  
  



	5. Happiness (iv): Jamming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>  _My belated apologies to Game of Thrones fans and my upcoming apologies to Downtown Abbey fans_   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

Lucy once again wakes up to Flicktrap hammering on the door. Mordecai is still asleep, with Talon and four very happy pigeons snuggled on his pillow, so the two of them go for a stroll.

“It’s quiet,” Lucy comments. “I think most Slabs don’t get up until after nine.”

“Probably,” Flicktrap says, distractedly. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Bringing me all the way to the Slablands was no easy feat, and I thank you for that. But I may need your help with something else now.”

“Sure,” Lucy says, fondly. “I told you I’d help if I could, remember?”

“Yes,” Flicktrap says, worriedly. “But this request is going to be…different. At some point, you and Mordecai and the loaders will go back to Sanctuary, right?”

Lucy thinks of the vault, and nods. She needs to be back on the grid in six or seven weeks. Ideally, earlier.

“Well, I want Brick to come to Sanctuary with us.”

Lucy stops walking for a moment, taken aback.

“I, uh, I can’t make that happen,” she tells Flicktrap. “I cannot force another human into anything they don’t want to do, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Of course,” Flicktrap agrees. “But perhaps we could restore communications? If we can block the Sleets’ jamming signal somehow, the Vice King could run things here, and Brick could be with his friends.”

“Oh. Uh. Um,” Lucy babbles, her thoughts whirling as she tries to analyse this proposal. It used to be so much easier to process things when she had an enormous siren AI brain. “Maybe that could work? Has Brick agreed to it?”

Flicktrap looks awkward. 

“Well, here’s the thing,” she says, carefully. “I haven’t spoken to him about it yet. This is my first experience with liking humans, and I don’t want to seem strange.”

“Right, right,” Lucy says, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Okay. Here’s the plan for today. You’re going to go to the old comms building and see if you can learn anything that might help us. And _I_ am going to have a long-overdue conversation with Brick.”

About communications jamming, and going home to Sanctuary, and most importantly, about the goddamned ghosts.

* * *

* * *

“Well, this is the old comms room,” Dale tells Felicity. “Everything we know about the jamming signal is saved on that offline computer over there.”

The room is almost completely bare. There is none of the expected communications equipment anywhere onsite. The computer itself is a shabby-looking grey cube, almost as big as Felicity's current body.

“There’s no monitor?” Felicity asks.

Dale scratches his hat.

“We’re running outta parts around here,” he explains. “Brick has a screen we can use, if we head up to his place.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Felicity says. “I will just interface with the computer directly, and upload the information to my drives. Even this old Claptrap chassis should be able to do that, surely.”

* * *

* * *

Brick greets Lucy warmly – although he accidentally calls her Angel twice – and they sit on his porch with the dogs.

“So,” Brick says, expertly removing a stray varkid stinger from Russet’s thick fur. “Whatchu want?”

“I will not mince my words,” Lucy tells him. “I think it’s time you went back to Sanctuary.”

Brick doesn’t answer right away. He flings the stinger off the porch, sending it bouncing across several small hills before it comes to a stop. Then he pulls a wriggling Freckles into his lap, where she curls up directly on top of her sister.

“I can’t do that,” he tells Lucy. “Can’t leave these idiots on their own.”

“What about—”

“Vice King Bree is very young,” Brick continues, as if he’s memorised all the reasons by heart. “And I ain’t leaving Dale Winger on his own without support. As long as the comms are down, I gotta stay.”

“So,” Lucy says, as casually as possible, “if we can restore communications, would you come back to Sanctuary with us?”

“Of course,” Brick replies. “But it’s impossible to…”

Brick trails off, apparently distracted by some movement on a distant hill. He yanks a set of beaten-up binoculars from the clip on his belt, glances through them briefly, and then springs to his feet.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Lucy, and jumps off the porch, sprinting in the general direction of the movement.

“Uh,” Lucy says to nobody, “good talk, I guess?”

She grabs Brick’s discarded binoculars and peers through them, just in time to see Brick arrive right next to a shimmering sickly-green ghost. He punches the ghost in its translucent Jack-face, and it dissolves into nothingness.

“Ah,” Lucy says. “That answers my next question, then.”

* * *

* * *

Felicity glares at the old computer. A tendril of electrical smoke is emanating from her tiny, useless Claptrap form.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Dale suggests carefully. “Please”

“Let me try the eye again,” Felicity snaps. “Common sense dictates it should be the eye.”

She presses her Claptrap eye against the computer. Nothing happens.

“Of course not,” she whispers, fiercely frustrated. “No, I need to plug in somehow. Old-fashioned interfacing. Let me try my hand.”

She jams her grip-claw into the computer’s port, ignoring the shocks that jolt through her body. She changes position three times. Then she tries the other claw. Nothing.

“I’m telling you,” Dale drawls, “I think it’s the bit in the middle. The other Claptraps kinda seemed to be able to insert it into things.”

Felicity glances down at the spot on her chassis where a thin metal frame can be extended and retracted. It seems like a clumsy and entirely unsafe way to connect to another system.

“Of course,” she says. “Nothing about this body is ever easy, is it?”

She ejects the metal frame completely – out of caution – picks it up from the floor, and inserts it into the computer. And just like that, she interfaces. Felicity is promptly swallowed up by files and facts, details of three dozen attempts to restore communications, plans for four signal boosters and detailed diagrams of seven signal-jamming jammers. For a moment she floats in this world of new information, thrilled to be exploring an unfamiliar system.

Then reality comes crashing down.

There’s only one viable option – one _chance_ – and it needs something that’s in short supply around here. 

* * *

* * *

“Sorry,” Brick says, as he returns back to the porch. “We’ve been having some weird Jack-shaped monsters show up lately. We set up a contest to see which Slab can punch the most of them, and I wanna win!”

He sits down heavily, making the wooden floorboards rattle.

“They’ve been getting creepier lately, though. I gotta up my punching game!”

“The monsters,” Lucy says. “We call them ghosts. Lilith has been trying to find out more about them.”

Brick tilts his head, something of a physiological miracle for a man with so little neck.

“How does Lilith know about them?” he asks.

“They’re everywhere,” Lucy tells him. “All over the Highlands and the tundra and everywhere else, except Sanctuary city itself. Lately they’ve gained the ability to shapeshift, and to sort of talk. Mordecai doesn’t think they’re a problem, but I do and so does Lilith, last I talked to her.”

Brick is silent for a beat.

“I thought they were just a local thing,” he says. “If they’re getting stronger, and they’re getting as close as the Highlands, then we need to do something about them.”

“The Crimson Raiders are trying to do something about it,” Lucy tells him. “But it isn’t easy.”

Brick’s expression grows stern and hard.

“Then let’s make it a bit easier,” he growls. “You fix the comms, and I’ll travel back to Sanctuary with you. Lilith shouldn’t have to handle this on her own.”

Lucy grins.

“Deal,” she says.

* * *

* * *

Lucy stares at the diagram, looking as uncertain as Felicity feels.

“Technically, if we can build this,” Lucy pauses to check the name, “this _JamSquared 5.5_ , it should be enough to restore communications. Normally I’d need more details on the source of the Sleets’ signal to be sure, but this particular model is a jamming nuke, so to speak. If we can build it, it will definitely do the job.”

“Excellent,” says Felicity, feeling much brighter. “So, where do we sta—”

“ _If_ we can build it,” Lucy says, with emphasis. “The _JamSquared_ requires six key components, each more complex and rare than the last, and the Slablands is particularly deficient in parts.”

“I was afraid of that,” Felicity tells her. “Have I set out on an impossible task?”

Lucy presses her thumb to her lips, examining the diagram again. Her shirt is stained with something that looks suspiciously like pigeon poo.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “Leave it with me. I’ll do some investigating, and I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow.”

“Right,” Felicity says, and then she adds, “ _thank_ you.”

Lucy smiles.

“What was it like, exploring a new system?” she asks. “I… I sort of miss it sometimes, you know.”

“It was terrible,” Felicity lies. “The coding was poor, and there were bugs everywhere.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy scribbles a list of the needed JamSquared parts, in no particular order, and takes it with her:

_1 – orbatrix_

_2 – relay regulator_

_3 – premium transmitter_

_4 – maintenance console_

_5 – platinum undistorter linkage_

_6 – booster matrix_

Vice King Bree turns out to be helpful, despite having the tone and disposition of an extremely unhelpful person.

“Yeah,” she says, eying the list of parts. “So, like, here are your problems. Problem A: this whole endeavour is majorly impossible, problem B: the first two components _could_ be made in the forge right here if we had a sufficiently skilled blacksmith, but we don’t.”

_Makes sense_ , Lucy thinks. Orbatrixes and relay regulators are unmoving parts, and their mechanical value largely stems from their shape, not the quality of metal.

“Problem C,” Bree continues, twirling her braid around her fingers, “good luck finding the last item, they’re like the first thing that everyone scavenges from badass dead robots, and there aren’t even any badass dead robots out here, so that’s like whatever.”

“I know that,” Lucy says, quietly. The robot carcasses she used to rebuild Felicity were usually missing their booster matrices. Finding one out here was probably impossible, but surely there was _something_ she could try.

“Problem I-forget-what-letter-I-was-up-to: the platinum undistorter linkage? Yeah, that’s more expensive than like, the net worth of Sanctuary, so good luck with that.”

Of course. The price of the linkages had been steadily increasing when Lucy died. They must be almost invaluable now.

“And your last problem,” Bree says, abandoning all pretence of alphabetical ordering, “is this: I might be able to help you get items 3 and 4, but it will require Brick not being a huge weenie. And that’s not looking great.”

Lucy has no idea what that means.

“Thank you, Vice King,” she says politely. “I appreciate your advice. Do I, er, bow?”

Bree holds out one heavily armoured hand.

“Bro fist,” she says, lazily. “It’s like bowing, but not lame.”

* * *

* * *

For Felicity, evening is by far the most enjoyable time of day. Tonight she sits on the edge of a warm human-and-dog pile, and tries to enjoy the plot of the horrible second season of _Derby of Dominions._

“Oh no,” she says softly. The snow monsters are getting closer to a little encampment of humans. Despite all the things the fictional humans have done, she doesn’t want them to die. Especially not like _that_.

“Why are there so many evil creatures?” Mordecai complains. “Most of the characters are bad guys. At least when you made me watch King of Jewelry there was someone to root for.”

“You’re supposed to root for the girl,” Brick informs him, loftily.

“Which girl?” Mordecai asks. “The one who might be a good person deep down but hides it by acting fragile, or the one who might be a good person deep down but hides it by acting butch?”

“They’ve _both_ killed people,” Felicity reminds them. “And… oh goodness!”

“Yikes,” Mordecai deadpans. “Someone is about to get their head munched.”

“I hate the snow monsters,” Felicity says. “They’re the worst!”

Mordecai stares in her direction for a moment, his expression unreadable behind his oversized goggles. Then he pauses the show.

“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” he asks, soberly.

“What?” Felicity says, flustered. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I like spending time with both of you. We’re friends, aren’t we? And even if we’re not, you can’t deny that Talon and I are friends. Of course I’m enjoying it.”

Mordecai looks taken aback for a moment, and then he smiles at her warmly, the way he smiles at Brick and birds.

“Sure,” he says. “But would you rather watch a different show?”

“Moot point,” Brick rumbles. “I don’t have any other shows.”

“Oh,” Mordecai says, his smile turning sneaky and smug, “but _I_ do.”

Brick immediately pushes Mordecai off the couch.

“You _brought it with you_?” Brick demands. “You… you weren’t even gonna talk to me! You lost the coin toss!”

Mordecai rolls nimbly to his feet, like a cat, and heads toward the door.

“She doesn’t want to watch a stupid show about old rich people falling in love!” Brick tells Mordecai.

“There are shows that aren’t about violence?” Felicity asks, gobsmacked. “I would very much like to watch one of those.”

“Great,” Mordecai says happily. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

* * *

After talking with Bree, Lucy walks to the edge of the Slablands, just south of where they first arrived. She sits on a partially-buried Rakk Hive vertebra, and stares into the thick cluster of trees. The sheer density of the foliage is unnerving. The scrub could be full of skags, or enemies, or worse, and nobody would know.

A few moments later, Eve drops gracefully down from the canopy.

“Everything okay, kiddo?” she asks.

“Everything is fine,” Lucy chirps, handing over the list of parts, “but I require your help. We need to restore communications to the Slablands. Do you know where I can find a platinum undistorter linkage? Or a decent booster matrix?”

Eve thinks for a moment. She looks the same as ever, except some of her wrappings have become stained with green, and there are spiky seeds stuck to the outside of her shoes.

“Trying to jam the jammer, huh?” she asks. “You know these items are almost impossible to find?”

“I know,” Lucy tells her, “but I have to try. It’s for Felicity.”

Eve shakes her head. It’s difficult to tell, but Lucy thinks she might be amused.

“You really love that robot, huh?”

Lucy does. She adores Felicity with every fibre of her being, both in concept and in reality. She cares for Felicity just as much as an ex-siren ex-AI can possibly care for another AI. And she loves Felicity as much as a hurt girl can love a tangible element of her own revenge fantasy, especially when that element is supposed to be the embodiment of happiness.

“Of course,” Lucy says out loud. “I saved her against Jack’s wishes. How could I not love her?”

Eve reaches out and ruffles Lucy’s hair, and Lucy feels safe and warm inside.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Eve says. “I’ll be back in a week. _Don’t_ do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“I promise,” Lucy replies, and Eve disappears into the trees.

Lucy heads back towards the dormitory alone, deep in thought. The orbatrix and regulator should be doable. There was a time when Lucy was linked in to nearly every system on the planet, including the educational and surveillance ones. She’s learned about smithing and she’s seen blacksmiths in action, surely she can _do_ enough to build the two parts at the Slab forge.

And surely, surely, they can convince Brick to agree to Bree’s plan to get the transmitter and the console – whatever that plan may be. Or if he refuses, maybe he’ll –

“Hiya.”

A ghost materializes at Lucy’s side, translucent and Jack-shaped and horrible to behold.

“Hello?” Lucy says, cautiously, waiting for something unpleasant to happen.

“I think we should talk,” the ghost tells her, in a near-perfect replica of her father’s own voice.

Lucy feels uneasy. On one hand, Mordecai has already decided the ghosts aren’t a threat. On the other hand…

“Not like this,” she answers. “Choose a different body first.”

The ghost raises its eyebrows, then nods and blurs, and suddenly a translucent Lilith clone is standing in front of Lucy.

“How’s this?” it asks, in Lilith’s low voice. “Fire! And, uh, hawks?”

“Feels kind of disrespectful to Lilith,” Lucy tells it.

“Fine.”

The ghost changes again, and this time it morphs into a copy of Lucy herself, as she is currently, with long loose hair and faint siren tattoos.

“Better, I suppose,” Lucy says. “What did you want to talk about?”

* * *

* * *

Mordecai comes back with a flash drive in his hand, flanked by the Vice King.

“I think she wants to talk to you,” he says, unnecessarily, jerking his thumb at Bree.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Felicity protests.

“It kind of is,” Brick agrees.

Mordecai looks unconcerned. He sits down in front of the sofa, and pulls a sleepy Talon into his lap.

“God, I forgot how incredibly _old_ you are,” Bree says, exasperatedly. “The sun is barely down. Look, Brick, we might have a way to restore the comms. You know, so you can talk to all your other geriatric friends.”

“Wait, really?” Mordecai says. “That’s great!”

Brick leans forward and slings an arm around Mordecai’s shoulders.

“Well done, Vice King,” he booms, appreciatively.

“Yes, well done,” Felicity agrees heartily. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

Bree folds her arms over her chest plate like a petulant but well-armoured child.

“But if we’re gonna pull it off, we _need_ that vanilla machine, Brick. We need to strip it for parts.”

Brick narrows his eyes, tension visible in every part of his body that isn’t touching Mordecai.

“No way,” he says. “I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not letting anyone near it. It’s weird, it’s dangerous, and Slabs will find a way to hurt themselves with it.”

Bree sighs dramatically.

“Yesterday Harris hurt himself because he tried to pick up an unloaded eggbeater-crossbow,” she points out. “We can hurt ourselves with anything. That’s not an excuse.”

“An eggbeater-crossbow?” Felicity asks.

“Part eggbeater, part crossbow,” Brick tells her. “It’s incapable of firing, so in theory it should be totally safe.”

“But Harris missed and picked up a running buzz axe instead,” Bree explains. “So he got hurt.”

“Woof,” Freckles says, unhelpfully.

_Why_ _are humans like this?_ Felicity thinks exhaustedly.

“Look,” Bree cajoles, “if you let us take it apart, the Slabs _won’t_ be able to hurt themselves on it any more. Because it’ll be, like, gone.”

Brick opens his mouth to respond, and Bree promptly changes tack.

“Mordecai,” she says, pointing at Mordecai’s cloth-wrapped head. “Say we can disassemble the vanilla machine.”

“Uh,” Mordecai says, uncertainly. “You know I’m not in charge here, right?”

“But if you say yes,” Bree says, with absolute confidence, “Brick will have to back you up.”

Felicity already knew that, of course, but hearing someone else say it makes her doubly happy. Her humans are so close to each other.

Mordecai tilts his head backwards and looks up at Brick.

“Please don’t say yes,” Brick whispers.

“Whatever you say,” Mordecai replies. “But counterpoint, if the comms are restored, we’ll be able to talk after I leave.”

“Yeah,” Brick says, quietly. Apparently he hasn’t told his friend about the rest of the plan yet. Felicity wonders if Bree knows.

“What _is_ a vanilla machine?” Felicity asks cautiously. “Does it dispense food, or…?”

“It’s an unenchanted med vending machine,” Brick tells her.

“They’re _super_ rare on this planet,” Bree adds, sounding almost excited.

“And Bree is pretty much obsessed with it,” Brick finishes, rolling his eyes.

“Right!” Bree agrees. “Because you, like, can’t strip down an enchanted machine. It’s like, impossible, or something. But this one is vanilla, and full of useful parts.”

“It sounds sort of creepy,” Felicity says. “But anything that will help us restore comms has my vote.”

“Mine too,” Mordecai says.

Brick sighs deeply.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

* * *

“Actually, wait, different question,” Lucy says. “Why do you keep scaring my friends?”

“Yeah, heh, sorry about that,” the ghost replies, in Lucy’s voice. “I had to make people afraid of me to power up. The good news is, I’m almost done with that, since I’m almost fully corporeal now. Go on, throw something at me. I betcha it goes clunk.”

Lucy blinks a few times.

“What does ‘power up’ mean in this context?” she asks. “What would have happened if you hadn’t scared people?”

The ghost frowns.

“I’d have just faded away,” it tells her, morosely. “Look, I know I was kinda being a creep. But honestly, I just don’t want to die again.”

Lucy drags her hands through her hair.

“Again?” she asks, trying not to sound incredulous.

“This is gonna be hard to explain, but there’s something broken inside of me,” the ghost tells her. It holds out its arms and looks down helplessly. “I keep living and dying and living and dying and living and dying – over and over – but I’m never actually _dead_. I don’t think I _can_ die; my body just kinda reboots back to being alive again. And I’m so… damn… tired.”

“I don’t think I believe you,” Lucy says, cupping her chin. “Everyone dies. Everything dies eventually.”

There were rumours, though. Rumours about the lab rats, and the other unfortunate souls that ended up in eridium laboratories. Rumours that said they had to be killed, because otherwise they’d just go on living.

“This is my body,” the ghost continues, desperately. “This translucent green thing? This is me, alive. This is as good as it gets. Who knows what I’ll be if I cycle again? I just want it to stop.”

“What are you?” Lucy asks. “What species?”

“Human. Same as you.”

“How did you get like this?”

The ghost tugs at its copy of Lucy’s blonde hair.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Lucy grabs the ghost by its slimy-looking shoulders. Its body feels cool and damp and solid beneath her fingers.

“Did someone experiment on you?” she demands. “Is that how you got to be broken and semi-immortal?”

The ghost turns its head away, staring at the little circle of dormitories in the distance.

“Yes,” it says, heavily.

Lucy releases her grip, and presses both her hands to her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know. I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

The ghost is silent for a moment, then it seems to regain its previous composure.

“Hey, I just said we should talk. You’re the one who started asking personal questions and making things awkward.”

Lucy shakes her head, in an attempt to clear it, or at least to get her thoughts on the current conversation to settle in a logical way.

“Of course,” she says. “What did you, er, want to talk about?”

The ghost points at the list that’s hanging out of Lucy’s pocket.

“You need a booster doodad, right? For your contraption?”

“A booster matrix,” Lucy corrects. “They can only be found in pristine badass loaders; they’re practically impossible to scavenge.”

The ghost smirks. It’s unnerving, to watch someone else with her own face make her own expressions back at her.

“Well,” it says, “I’ve got some free time, and I can travel pretty fast.”

“Oh,” Lucy says. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask that of you. I couldn’t ask anything of you, after what my father’s experiments did to you.”

The ghost shrugs.

“Look, I’m bored, and you’re the first person I’ve spoken with in years. Let’s just see how this works out.”

And with that, the ghost vanishes into thin air, and Lucy is left alone, uncertain and worried.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 6_   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>  _Edit on 8/8/19: changed the name of the LOTR reference to the correct canon parody name, thanks to AO3 user PsiRadish for pointing out my mistake_   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 


	6. Happiness (v): Longing

* * *

* * *

Brick leads them to a small building, almost completely hidden inside the ribcage of a giant, exposed fossil. He takes a ring of keys from his belt and unlocks the door. Brick then unlocks a second locked door using a key from the chain around his neck. And then a third locked door using a key borrowed from Dale. And finally, a fourth and final locked door, which Brick unlocks by punching it.

“Gotta have good security,” he says, and disappears into the building. He reappears a moment later, dragging a sickly-looking vending machine. Felicity does a double-take. It looks inherently _wrong_ : grey in all the places a health machine should be red. The front is blank, decorated only with a simple graphic of a cross, and the word ‘HEALTH’ in generic block letters.

“Yay,” Bree deadpans, hefting an enormous box of tools onto the ground. And then, in a parody of Brick’s voice, she adds “let’s rip it up!”

“I still don’t quite understand this machine,” Felicity admits. “Where did it come from?”

“All the med vendors start out like this,” Lucy explains. “This is the intergalactic model. The ones you see on Elpis and Pandora have been enchanted by Nurse Nina and Doctor Zed, respectively, to be better and brighter.”

“I remember Nina,” Felicity says, wistfully. “Although I never realised she could use magic. Is Zed the owner of the horrible-looking face decorating most of the health machines here?”

“Nina, like Zed, can use psycho magic,” Lucy tells her. “And yes, that’s him.”

Lucy seems a little distracted, uneasy in a way that Felicity can’t quite define.

“Wanna see a generic health needle?” Mordecai asks, pressing his hand against the control pad.

“ _Mor_ dy,” Brick chides.

“Sorry, friend,” Mordecai says, pushing coins into the slot with an apologetic little shrug. “I’ve always wanted to know what they look like.”

The vanilla med vendor whirrs and gurgles for a moment, and then dispenses a single needle. It’s the same shape as the other health needles Felicity has seen, but it’s filled with a thick, sticky substance that is the comforting colour of coagulated blood.

“Thank you,” a computerised voice says, from inside the vendor. “Have a nice day.”

“Nobody use that,” Brick warns.

Mordecai picks up the needle and examines it.

“This substance gives a temporary health and energy boost,” Lucy explains. “It’s useful for the short-term, but not a substitute for seeing a real medic.”

“It’s poison,” Brick explains, less helpfully.

“May I see it?” Lucy asks, and Mordecai tosses the syringe at her.

“Oookay,” Brick says. “I can’t believe I need to say this, but no more throwing needles at each other.”

“It’s so gooey,” Bree says, looking over Lucy’s shoulder. “Does it even fit through that tiny little gauge, or does it just, like, jam?”

“I think you need a decent amount of force,” Lucy says, tapping the plunger. “You can’t just… oh.” Lucy looks down at the small amount of the grotesque, maroon fluid that is now staining her blouse. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“DAMNIT,” Brick yells. “Angel, get that shirt off.”

Lucy looks uncertain. Humans have an attachment – if not to specific items of clothing – then at least to the idea of wearing clothing in general. Especially when out in public.

“Now!” Mordecai says. He holds out a few yards of scarf-like red fabric in Lucy’s direction. “Put this on instead.”

Puzzlingly, Mordecai does not seem to be missing any part of his own outfit. Felicity wonders whether he can just summon scarves out of nothingness at will, in the same way Nina can enchant vending machines and Lucy can raise dead AIs.

Lucy discards the tainted blouse, and manages to fashion herself a vaguely shirt-like garment out of red scarf.

“Sorry about that,” she says, quietly. “I didn’t think—”

“You’re not all-knowing anymore,” Brick reminds her. “We _all_ need to be careful.”

* * *

* * *

_How many people did my father hurt?_

“Here,” Bree says, holding out a small black disc in her grease-covered hand. “The premium transmitter.”

“It’s such a little thing to look at, isn’t it?” Flicktrap says. “Thank you, Vice King Bree.”

_How many people were forced into slag experimentation? How many are still alive? How many have living family?_

Lucy rubs her forehead with the back of her hand, barely listening to the conversation around her. For as long as she can remember, she kept count of her father’s victims: the dead, the damaged, the disabled, and the grieving. But even she was locked out of the slag experimentation systems. There could be hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of lives she doesn’t know about. People like Krieg, and the rats, and the ghost.

_Will it be enough?_ Lucy wonders. _If I can enter the Vault of the Resurrector, if I can restore hope to Pandora, will that be enough to atone?_

Bree points her foot in the direction of a large pile of machine parts, each harvested from the bowels of the dismantled vanilla med vending machine.

“And there’s your maintenance console,” she says. “Some assembly required.”

“I’ll get started on that,” Flicktrap chirps. “I haven’t built a maintenance console from scratch in years. This will be fun.”

_What else is waiting out there? What other horrors did Handsome Jack leave behind?_

Bree sits down next to Lucy with a series of dull _clangs_.

“What’s up?” she deadpans.

Lucy looks at the hills, the buildings, the sky; at the precious Slablands all around them.

“I think my father made the ghost,” she says. “Maybe.”

“Bummer,” says Bree, without missing a beat. “If it makes you feel any better, my grandma used to eat people.”

“And I don’t even know how to begin to ato…” Lucy says, and stops. “What did you say?”

Bree shrugs.

“Being related to people sucks,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You gotta just burn the evidence and move on with your life.”

Lucy feels a tiny bit better.

“I feel like there’s a story here,” she says. “And I kiiind of want to ask for more details.”

“Don’t,” Bree advises. “Gram-gram was bad, and now she’s dead. Simple as that.”

_Simple as that_.

They sit in silence for a few moments, watching Flicktrap hammer various components into something vaguely console-shaped.

“I like your tattoo,” Bree says.

Lucy laughs.

“Thanks,” she says. “I got it by being a siren.”

“Ugh, don’t be a jerk,” Bree says. “I meant the other tattoo. The little star on your, like, upper back. You should show it off more often. It’s cool.”

Lucy blinks.

“The little _what_?” she asks.

* * *

* * *

The loaders go on ahead to the forge. Felicity sits with the humans while they eat lunch. Well, she sits with Mordecai, and several feet away from Lucy. Brick is absent, presumably busy with Slab King business.

“Mordecai?” Lucy asks, looking uncharacteristically pale and weary. “Have you ever heard of anyone spontaneously developing a tattoo? Not the siren marks, just the regular kind.”

“No,” Mordecai says, after thinking for a moment. “I’ve heard of people getting drunk and waking up with tattoos they regret, heh heh, but nothing weirder than that.”

“Speaking of which,” Felicity says, “I’ve decorated my chassis in a way I certainly don’t regret.” She twists and points to the area just below her left arm, where she has carefully written the words ‘MARY & MATTHEW 4 EVER’ in permanent marker.

Mordecai grins and gives her a high-five. Lucy blinks, nonplussed.

“Who are these people?” she asks.

“Characters from our show,” Felicity explains.

“The best show,” Mordecai adds, happily. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“I like it a lot,” Felicity says, in a rush. “Matthew is a rich weapons designer. Mary has a rare condition that makes her deathly allergic to bullets. Their love is very fragile and beautiful. I’ve found that I quite like humans who care about each other!”

“Well, I won’t pretend to understand,” Lucy says. “But I’m happy you’ve found something that you enjoy, Flicktrap.”

Lucy takes a bite of her skag-and-cactus sandwich and chews thoughtfully, eyes on the sky, already disengaged from the conversation. Mordecai uses a bit of food to push the rest of his food around on his plate.

There’s something Felicity has been meaning to ask him, and now seems as good a time as any.

“Mordecai?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you and Brick boyfriends?”

Mordecai chokes, which is odd given he hasn’t actually consumed any food today. Lucy throws down her fork – which is inexplicably also a thimble – and glares at Felicity.

“You can’t just _ask_ people things like that!” Lucy says. “It’s rude and inappropriate. And invasive!”

“I didn’t mean any harm!” Felicity tells her.

Mordecai finishes choking and opens his mouth to speak. Lucy cuts him off.

“Mordecai, you don’t have to answer that,” she says, aggressively. “Flicktrap, real humans aren’t the same as the characters in your show.”

“I know _that_ ,” Felicity snaps, annoyed. “And I don’t see how I did anything egregious! I simply asked my friend a question.”

Lucy seems to deflate a little.

“At the very least,” she says, “you shouldn’t have asked it in front of me. That’s not fair to him.”

Lucy sinks back into her seat, and rakes a hand through her hair.

“You okay?” Mordecai asks her, quietly.

“I should be,” Lucy says, smiling unhappily. “We’ve made progress. But I’m in a terrible mood, for some reason.”

“You, uh, wanna talk about it?” Mordecai enquires awkwardly.

“No,” Lucy says. She doesn’t elaborate further, and she doesn’t apologise to Felicity.

“All right,” Mordecai says, suddenly businesslike. “Then I’ll talk. The answer to your question, Flicktrap, is no. We’re just friends.” 

“Friends… with benefits?”

“No. No benefits.”

“Really?” Felicity says, surprised. “But you seem so close.”

Mordecai holds his hands out to his sides in an exaggerated shrug.

“Close isn’t the same as being romantically involved,” he explains. “He’s one of my best friends, but that doesn’t make us…”

Mordecai makes an unhelpful gesture with his hand, and trails off. He scrubs a hand over his mouth and beard, and then changes tack.

“You’re not completely off base,” he says, uncomfortably. “But those vibes you’re picking up on are only coming from me. Brick doesn’t feel the same way.”

“How do you know?” Felicity asks.

“He’s my best friend, we know everything about each other.”

“Ah,” Felicity says, taking a moment to process this poignantly sad nugget of information. She knew human relationships could be lopsided, of course, but she never really considered such a thing might happen to _her humans_.

“It’s probably a good thing,” Mordecai tells her, smiling a little. “I’m terrible at romance. Did Lucy ever tell you about the time I dated Moxxi? I was a mess. Our relationship was a mess. She left me for Handsome Jack, that’s how bad it was.”

Mordecai moves some more food around on his plate and then pushes it away ceremoniously, as if he had been previously eating and now he’s finished.

“I blamed her for a while, but it was my fault. I was too focused on birds.”

Felicity wants to protest, although she isn't sure exactly what she’s protesting, but Lucy interrupts first.

“Oh yes, that breakup was one hundred percent your fault,” Lucy says, sarcastically. “Nothing to do with the fact that Moxxi had just had one ex-husband killed. Or the fact that another ex-husband had recently left her for a psycho. Or the fact that – even if your relationship could somehow be considered anything other than a rebound for Moxxi – it was obvious from the beginning that she wanted and expected Lilith to win the Underdome and you were a complete surprise. You didn’t exactly have much of a—”

“Shut up,” Mordecai says loudly. “You were like fourteen at the time. You couldn’t have understood anything about adult relationships.”

This is all too much for Felicity, who is starting to wonder if humans are any different from the overdramatic, entangled human characters in echonet shows.

“I think,” she says, steadily, “that Lucy and I should go to the forge now.”

The humans glare at each other for a few more moments, and then Lucy shakes her head and gets to her feet.

“I agree,” she says.

Lucy and Felicity gather up their things, and start heading in the general direction of the Slab forge.

“I’ll make sure the pigeons get the rest of our lunch,” Mordecai calls after them.

“Thank you!” Lucy yells, over her shoulder.

Felicity doesn’t understand humans at all. Especially not the kind of humans who like birds. But Mordecai is her human, isn’t he? And… maybe so is Lucy. Maybe.

* * *

* * *

The Vice King meets them halfway.

“Ahoy!” Flicktrap calls.

“Never say that to me again,” Bree replies, firmly. “Nautical shit is the _worst_.”

“I disagree,” Flicktrap says. “I love it. I used to call myself the Skipper, back when I ran a spaceship.”

“Whatever,” Bree says, flipping her hair. “Look, here are the rules of the forge. Rule one: don’t use rare metals without asking Brick. But you’re free to melt down any stupid crap you find.”

“Could you define ‘stupid crap’, please?” Lucy asks.

“Eggbeater crossbows,” Bree says. “Fork thimbles.” She stops and points at an object lying on the ground a few feet away, which appears to be four tea strainers welded together into a useless square. “Whatever the hell that is. Stupid crap.”

“Understood,” Lucy says.

“Rule two,” Bree continues, “you’re on your own. Nobody else here knows anything about blacksmithing.”

“Then why have a forge at all?” Flicktrap asks, curiously.

Bree sighs deeply and kicks at a rock.

“At one point, we thought we could train people to use it,” she says. “Now it mostly exists to keep the Junior Blacksmith busy.”

“Wait,” Lucy says, struggling to keep up. “So you _do_ have blacksmiths here?”

“We have one,” Bree says. “She was demoted from regular blacksmith to Junior Blacksmith because she kept making stupid crap. If you want to succeed, don’t ask for her advice and don’t accept her help. Just ignore her. Which, incidentally, is rule number three.”

“Oh,” Lucy says. “Er, good to know.”

They reach the entrance of the forge. Bree takes two blacksmithing shields and two whole-face masks from the hook on the wall.

“You’d better wear these as well, Flipflap,” she says. “Don’t want your little eye getting burnt out.”

“It’s Flicktrap, and thank you.”

Lucy peers inside. Gathered at the far end of the surprisingly small room are Agwun and Agtu, who are valiantly trying to hammer a piece of white-hot metal into shape. Beside them is a young woman with dark red hair, waving her arms around excitedly.

“Good luck,” Bree says. She takes a running leap off the landing and wanders off, across the hills of the Slablands.

Lucy looks at Flicktrap.

“Orbatrix and relay regulator,” she says. “Then we’ll be two steps closer to bringing your boys home.”

“Yes,” Flicktrap agrees. “But there’s one more problem, isn’t there?”

“Space.” Lucy had noticed it too. “We’re not going to be able to work the forge at the same time. We’ll have to take it in shifts.”

Flicktrap hesitates.

“What happens if I get too close to you?” she asks.

“Lag. You know that already,” Lucy says, a little impatiently.

“Yes, about forty-five seconds worth, I believe,” Flicktrap says. “What happens if I stay close to you after that?”

Lucy drags her fingers down her face.

“Really?” she asks. “I mean, technically if the lag doesn’t have any lasting effects, you should be fine as long as you stay within lag range. But the moment you step out and step back again, you’ll lag again. And the lag could have an automatic refresh after a certain period of time, even if you don’t move away. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never experimented with it.”

Flicktrap leans into the forge entrance, and takes a length of chain from one of the clothing hooks.

“No time like the present,” she says, brightly.

* * *

* * *

Felicity goes up to Lucy, and nothing happens.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” she says.

“You just went unresponsive for almost a minute,” Lucy informs her. “It probably didn’t feel like anything to you, because you don’t have the loaders’ shutdown protocols.”

The loader robots immediately respond to being mentioned.

“Hi!” says Agwun.

“Hi,” says Agtu.

They don’t wave, though. Their free hands are joined together in an approximation of human handholding. They’ve been off doing their own thing for a while now, and Felicity isn’t sure what that means.

“Blacksmithing!” says the Junior Blacksmith, a little too brightly. “Woo! Come and join us, we’re learning stuff about metal!”

Agtu meets Lucy’s eyes for a moment.

“Our friends will have to have their lesson some other time,” he says, mechanical voice dripping with both real and contrived regret. “Unfortunately we need… all of your attention for now.”

“Thanks,” Lucy says, smiling at Agtu. And then she turns back to Felicity and stops smiling, abruptly.

“Well, anyway,” Felicity says, “let’s tether ourselves together so we can get started.”

Lucy complies – looping the chain around her own wrist and shortening the length of it so that Felicity can’t leave the lag zone – but she pouts silently the whole time.

“I don’t like this,” she tells Felicity, finally. “What if something goes wrong? What if I lose you? You are free to do as you wish, of course, but I couldn’t bear to be the reason you get hurt. Or worse.”

Felicity doesn’t answer immediately. She thinks for a few seconds, and then decides not to answer at all. There is something deep and complicated in what Lucy is saying, and Felicity doesn’t know how to process it.

For a violent species, humans can be very… soft.

They go inside and get to work, trying to ignore the stream of vastly one-sided conversation coming from the other end of the room.

Lucy opens up a small sheaf of paper, containing a hand-drawn diagram of the shape and dimensions of the relay regulator. She sticks it to the nearest wall, which has strangely adhesive properties for polished wood. Felicity removes and discards the wooden part of the eggbeater-crossbow, and holds the rest over the flame.

“Ideally, we want an orange-yellow colour,” she tells Lucy conversationally. “Like the best legendary loot, I suppose.”

At the other end of the room, the Junior Blacksmith says “BLAM! Now that is a nice looking orbatrix! Now SQUISH THE SIDES! Just a little bit – we’re gonna make the first ever ovoid orbatrix. COMMS METAL BLACKSMITHING, YEAH!”

_Thank goodness for the loaders,_ Felicity thinks. “Luckily we don’t have to worry about the amount of carbon alloyed,” she says out loud, “since the exact properties of the metal don’t matter, only the shape. As long as we can forge it, that’s all we need.”

“That kinda sucked,” the Junior Blacksmith says, looking at the sparklingly perfect orbatrix in Agtu’s free hand. Then she gasps aloud. “You know what this sphere needs? Corners! CORNERS EVERYWHERE! Let’s make another one and add loads of sharp edges!”

Felicity shakes her head sadly. She’s never met a human with so much completely directionless energy before. Even torks seemed to have more purpose than the Junior Blacksmith.

“I need to talk to you,” Lucy blurts out, suddenly. Felicity pauses in her current task of clanging the hammer against the soft, hot metal, and signals for Lucy to go ahead.

“I tried to get the other pieces for the JamSquared,” Lucy says, wretchedly, “and I ended up... there are other people involved now.”

“That’s fine,” Felicity tells her, wishing she could smile reassuringly. “I expected you’d go to Eve. Morally, she’s irredeemable, but I believe she genuinely cares about you. She won’t be a threat to our safety as long as you’re around.”

Lucy takes the hammer and strikes a few blows, until the shapeless lump of metal starts to resemble a relay regulator.

“Someone else is involved,” she says, finally. “They overheard me talking to Eve, and then they just sort of told me they’d go and get a booster matrix for us. I didn’t get a chance to say yes or no.”

“Oh well,” Felicity says, airily. “That’s their problem then. Who was it? One of the slabs?”

“It was the ghost,” Lucy tells her.

At the other end of the room, the Blacksmith yells “THIS WILL BE FRIGGING SICK” as something explodes and knocks out half the far wall.

* * *

* * *

Their first attempt at forging a regulator is not successful, and for once, that probably isn’t the Junior Blacksmith’s fault.

“The ghost?” Flicktrap says, rolling along behind her. “ _The_ ghost? The one that’s been popping up everywhere?”

“Mordecai doesn’t think it’s that bad,” Lucy points out. “And it… they were experimented on by my father. They’re caught in some sort of horrible immortality loop. Because of Jack.”

“Well,” Flicktrap says slowly. “You can’t save everyone. But I am terribly glad you saved me. And that you’re helping me look after my boys. I suppose… if you really want to help a ghost.”

“The problem is that it’s helping _me_ ,” Lucy says, throwing up her hands. She goes into her dormitory and Flicktrap follows, mostly by necessity. Mordecai is out cross-training Talon with the dogs.

“Anyway,” Lucy says, wearily, “you should untie yourself. We can’t stay within four feet of each other forever.”

She sits down on the bed and Flicktrap sits with her. Lucy unties the chain from her own wrist, and then from Flicktrap’s claw hand, and looks fondly down at the little robot.

“Would you like a hug?” Lucy asks, politely.

“I won’t be able to feel it,” Flicktrap points out. “But… I think so, yes.”

Lucy wraps her arms around Flicktrap’s smooth, box-shaped chassis, and Flicktrap squeezes back as gently as her wiry Claptrap limbs will allow.

And then an object comes crashing through the closed window, shattering the glass, and Lucy is on her feet. Flicktrap zooms to the other side of the room, a lag-safe distance away. The moment is definitely over.

“Is that a grenade?” Flicktrap asks, worriedly.

Lucy has just enough time to register that the item is not an explosive, and in fact looks like some kind of mechanical part, when a translucently green copy of herself wanders in through the door.

“Greetings, kids.” the ghost says lightly. “I found you a booster matrix.”

“I… uh… thanks,” Lucy says, uncertainly.

For a few moments, silence reigns supreme. The ghost neither leaves, nor makes any attempt to break the ice.

“If you were going to enter using door, why didn’t you just carry the part with you?” Flicktrap asks, finally. “Why break a window?”

“Hmm,” the ghost says, briefly regarding the glass littering the carpet. “Good point, little Claptrap.”

“She’s not a Claptrap,” Lucy says quickly. “This is Flicktrap. She’s a military-grade AI currently using a Claptrap chassis.”

“Hey,” the ghost says to Flicktrap, warmly. And then, “you want me to do an impression of you?”

“No thank you,” the robot replies. “The fact that you’re currently impersonating my friend is more than sufficiently disconcerting for me.”

The ghost shrugs, and makes a series of soft _clinks_ as it steps into the room. Lucy realises it is clutching two rakk ale bottles in one hand, and a third, open bottle in the other.

“What… uh…” Lucy asks, uncomfortably, “what should we call you?”

“The name’s Esbiun,” the ghost tells her. “But ‘ghost’ is also okay. I’ve gotten used to that. And all the other names I’ve been called.”

“Esbiun,” Flicktrap repeats slowly. “Nice to meet you. You’re looking much more corporeal than when I last saw you.”

“Thanks,” the ghost says, taking a long drag from the bottle. “I’ve been working on it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Flicktrap says, glancing at Lucy. “So, is that your goal, then? What will you do after you become sufficiently solid?”

The ghost – Esbiun – smiles with a slimy-looking copy of Lucy’s own lips.

“Right now, my goal is getting _drunk_ ,” it… they reply. “Not sure if I still can, but I raided Rotgut Distillery ‘cause I wanna find out.”

“How many have you had?” Lucy asks, curiously.

“Five?” Esbiun estimates. “Maybe six?”

“I’m not really sure an immortal ghost can get drunk on—”

“Hundred,” Esbiun clarifies.

“I see,” Lucy says, awkwardly.

“Well, you need to keep your alcohol-related endeavours far away from the Slablands,” Flicktrap says sternly. “I have dear friends here, and your pre-drunken shenanigans are the last thing they need to see.”

“You’ve got a lot to say, huh?” Esbiun declares, pointing at Flicktrap. “Alright, I’ll do as you ask. But only because I’ve missed having a Claptrap around. We used to have multitudes of them runnin’ around everywhere, you know.”

“She’s _not_ a Claptrap,” Lucy says, to nobody, because Esbiun has just vanished into the air. They re-appear a moment later, without the bottles.

“There. Done.”

“Thanks,” Flicktrap replies. “So, er, how are things?”

“I found an abandoned bakery yesterday,” Esbiun says. “While I was getting your thingymabob. I think I’ll go back there and see if it’s operable. I miss baking.”

“Can you eat?” Flicktrap asks. “I can’t.”

“Nope. I’m pretty confident eating is a living-only privilege.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy blurts out, suddenly. “I know I said it before, but I really, truly am sorry for what happened to you.”

“Slag experimentation ruined a lot of lives,” Flicktrap says quietly.

“So I’ve heard,” Esbiun replies, airily.

The three of them stand around awkwardly for a few moments. Lucy retrieves the booster matrix from the floor and places it reverently on her bed. Then she starts picking up the pieces of glass. She’ll need to bury them deep, so that unsuspecting slabs and/or pigeons don’t accidentally cut themselves.

“So, what’s next for you?” Flicktrap asks Esbiun.

“I’m mostly just killing time,” Esbiun answers. “It doesn’t really matter what I do now. But when that big old Vault opens in a few weeks, I’m gonna use it to become a normal human, and then I’ll finally be able to go home.”

As they get to the last sentence, the ghost is smiling, almost sparkling in the cool night air. Lucy stares at Esbiun, her heart sinking.

“Which vault?” she asks, stupidly, even though she knows the answer.

“The Vault of the Resurrector,” Esbiun replies.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 7_  
  
  
  
  



	7. Happiness (vi): Truth and Fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _Lilith POV is back, so now we have all three POVs_   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

Lucy hits the softened metal so hard it squashes into a pancake, ruining their progress.

“But the Vault of the Resurrector is _your thing_ ,” Felicity says for the fifth time. “You’ve been planning to use it for months. You can’t give up on your dreams for the sake of a ghost!”

“Exactly!” the Junior Blacksmith agrees, from the other end of the room. “Always follow your dreams. _And_ your nightmares. That’s where the best ideas are. Huh, I wonder what would happen if I put my hand on this chunk of white-hot steel?”

“A ghost that’s hurting because of my family,” Lucy replies, flattening the pancake into a thin smear. “Believe me, you have _no idea_ how badly I want to use the vault. You have no idea what—”

Lucy chokes up for a moment, and then pulls herself back together.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t have a choice,” she says. “I have to undo the damage Jack did. That means I have to stand aside for Esbiun.”

“That’s stupid,” Felicity says. “Also, I don’t trust your judgement right now, because you look like you didn't sleep at all last night.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Lucy tells her gruffly. “If there was any way to make the vault work twice in a row, I would… I’d probably sacrifice anything. But…I…I…can’t…”

“I wanted to see your siren powers,” Felicity tells her. “I’ve heard stories, mentions of the Guardian Angel, in nearly every Pandoran computer system I've touched.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, she says:

“What about my awesome powers of restoring the Slablands communications?”

Felicity wishes she could smile.

“Or your incredible powers of restoring a destroyed Artificial Intelligence,” she adds, indulgently. “You’re right, of course. I just wish things were different.”

Lucy sighs deeply.

“Me too,” she says.

Lucy picks up another lump of ‘stupid crap’ metal from the shelf. It appears to be a hybrid between a dagger and a hair-curler. Felicity fires up the blowtorch. At the other end of the forge, the Junior Blacksmith is crafting a sword with two handles and no blade.

“Imagine the looks on everyone’s faces when we show up to Sanctuary with Brick,” Felicity says, as brightly as she can manage.

“Huh,” Lucy says, sounding a modicum happier. She pauses for a moment, and then adds “I wonder what Lilith is doing right now?”

* * *

* * *

Lilith pushes past several vending machines, and joins the small crowd gathered inside the infirmary. At one end of the room is Krieg, his expression unreadable behind his mask, bouncing apprehensively up and down on the balls of his feet. Maya stands next to him.

“Everything will be fine,” she says, tensely. “You’ve trained for this.”

At the other end of the infirmary is Zed, looking vaguely worried as always. He’s dwarfed by two massive cages, one on either side of him, both unnervingly quiet.

“Uh, I don’t think a med school exam is s’pposed to have an audience,” he says. He stares at the crowd for a moment, and then shrugs. “Well, come on kid, let’s start.”

Krieg nods once, and walks over to the cages. Maya slots in beside Lilith.

“I don’t like this,” she says, quietly. “He isn’t allowed to re-take the test if he fails. This is his only chance, and I think it’s happening too soon.”

“GO KRIEG!” Gaige yells irreverently. “YOU GOT THIS, BUDDY!”

“I suppose this is one more example of Krieg and I not understanding each other,” Maya continues, frowning. “I know he wants to be a healer, but it’s so hard to talk about the details. It’s because he’s a psycho, and I’m not, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Lilith says, feeling a little exasperated. “Look, you really should talk to—”

“Krieg! Krieg! Krieg! Krieg!” Salvador chants. Deathtrap dances behind him, bouquets of tiny metal strips emerging from his non-murdering arm.

Lilith pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Gaige?” she asks.

“Yes?” Gaige replies, sweetly.

“You said you were too busy to help Tannis with her planet-scanning project this week.”

“That’s correct.”

“But you _weren’t_ too busy to install a cheerleading routine into your robot?”

Gaige seems momentarily uncertain.

“There’s a _really_ good explanation for that,” she tells Lilith, “and I’m coming up with it right now.”

Zed removes the cover from the first cage, and tosses it to the ground. The resulting _clang_ is enough to set a silence over the whole infirmary, sparing Lilith from any further whimsical conversation.

“First stage,” Zed says, holding up one finger. “No… part A,” he corrects, putting his finger back down again. “No, wait. Gol-dern it, I wrote this down earlier. _Task_ one,” he finishes, extending his finger again and pointing it at Krieg. “Task one of two. There are a total of two parts to this examination, and you needta pass them both. Task one: heal this here bullymong.”

Lilith glances doubtfully at the occupant of the cage. She can see now that it _is_ indeed a bullymong; a very large, very old one, if she’s any judge. And _very_ unwell. It’s lying limp and facedown at the bottom of its cage.

“That looks extremely sick,” Maya whispers, worriedly. “I don’t think Zed himself could heal it.”

Lilith squeezes Maya’s hand. Krieg’s exam is hardly her most pressing concern right now, but still. She wants him to succeed. He’s one of her people, just like everyone else in Sanctuary.

Krieg walks up to the ailing bullymong, finds a stray furry elbow sticking out beyond the cage bars, and presses both his palms against it. He seems relatively calm now, focused on the task at hand.

“Fix the flesh,” Krieg says, softly. Something imperceptible passes between wannabe-healer and patient. Energy. Psycho magic. Hope?

“Fix the flesh!” Krieg says, loudly, and the bullymong twitches. Krieg vibrates with effort, clenches one hand into a fist, and yells “FIX THE FLESH!”

And slowly, surely, the illness drains away, and the bullymong snorts and flails and gets carefully to its feet, outraged and perfectly healed.

The crowd bursts into applause. Zed makes a check mark on the clipboard that he’s holding upside-down.

“That’s a pass,” he drawls.

Krieg laughs maniacally.

“I POWDERED MY COCKATIEL,” he tells Zed, “FOR MAYA!”

“That was awesome!” Maya calls back at him, across the room.

Zed lets the healed bullymong out of its cage, where it promptly absconds through the window and into Sanctuary. Lilith sighs deeply, unsurprised. Then the second cage is uncovered to reveal a second bullymong lying on its floor, looking even more pale and limp than the first.

Zed frowns at his clipboard and rotates it by 15 degrees in his hand.

“Task five,” he says, his mouth moving behind his mask. Presumably. Rumour has it that nobody has ever seen behind Zed’s mask, so in theory he may not _have_ a mouth. But he definitely has some kind of speaking apparatus back there, which is all that really matters.

“No, wait, task two,” Zed amends. “Final task. You gotta pass this one too, otherwise I won’t consider you a real healer, and I’ll fight you every time you try to practise healing, see. Task two: heal this here other bullymong.”

“Zed is an idiot,” Gaige declares in what she probably thinks is a whisper. “Krieg would _totally_ win that fight.”

“ _You’re_ being an idiot,” Lilith tells her, quietly.

“Krieg doesn’t want to fight,” Maya adds. “He wants approval, and a mentor. This test is important to him.”

Buffered by his previous success, Krieg walks jauntily up to the second cage, and presses both his palms to the bullymong’s thick fur.

“Fix the flesh!” Krieg announces, tense with effort. “FIX THE FLESH. FIX THE FLESH!”

But this bullymong gives no twitch, no indication of recovery at all. Krieg’s voice rises, and he reaches deeper, until his forearms vanish beneath the fur. Lilith can sense the same invisible magic emanating from him in rivulets, but the patient is unresponsive.

“If Zed has set him up to fail,” Lilith snaps, “I swear, I’m gonna… I’ll think of something.”

Krieg sinks to his knees, vibrating with effort.

“FIX THE FLESH!!” he bellows, at vocal-cord-busting volume.

Gaige looks at Maya.

“We have to say the thing,” she says urgently.

“What?” Lilith asks, but Maya and Gaige are already chanting ‘ _fix the flesh_ ’. And then Salvador joins in, and then the whole crowd is hollering the words back to Krieg, in unison, like a mantra.

“FIX THE FLESH! FIX THE FLESH! FIX THE FLESH!”

_This is a different kind of psycho magic_ , Lilith marvels. _Krieg, and Zed, they belong to a community. They have people, and that means something, doesn’t it?_

For a second, Krieg just takes in the crowd. Then he gets to his feet and throws his weight against the cage. He musters his second wind, his third wind, every ounce of magic he has, and pours it on the recalcitrantly ill bullymong.

“FIIIX THEEE FLEEEESH!” Krieg howls, sweat dribbling from his brow. “FIXFIXFIX.”

Zed looks perhaps slightly more worried than usual. He rotates his clipboard again, this time by 360 degrees, pokes himself in the eye with a corner, and drops the clipboard onto the blood-coated floor. The crowd has stopped yelling about flesh, and has started chanting Krieg’s name, over and over. After a beat, Lilith joins in. After two beats, so does Zed.

Krieg sinks to his knees again, but he doesn’t take his eyes or his hands from the bullymong. He is absolutely focused, and magic flows through him just as easily as if he were a siren.

And the bullymong…

…does not get better.

“Oh _no_ ,” says Maya.

Krieg collapses on the floor, spent and strained and as limp as his patient. The crowd falls silent. Deathtrap waves his arms encouragingly, but it’s already over. It’s _over_.

Zed walks over and crouches down next to Krieg. Maya presses both of her hands over her mouth.

“I’m… the… conductor,” Krieg says weakly, “of… the poop…”

“Wanna know why you couldn’t heal him?” Zed asks. He tugs a bullymong arm out of the cage, and presses Krieg’s fingers against the hairless wrist. “Feel that? No pulse. No flabjermatt either. He’s dead.”

Lilith tells herself that one day, she is going to punch Zed so hard that every other psycho, including the long-dead Jack, will feel it.

“Can’t have a healer who can bring back the dead,” Zed tells Krieg, gently. “Things go downhill real quick. And you’ve got some strong magic on ya… I had to be sure you couldn’t do it.” He reaches over and draws a checkmark with his finger in the blood near the clipboard. “You passed task two, obviously.”

_Oh!_

Of course, _of course_ Zed is worried about necromancy. Like healing, it’s a type of psycho magic, and unlike healing, it’s _bad_. Zed’s twin brother was a necromancer, and he went on an egomaniacal murderous rampage until Lilith and her friends killed him.

Lilith revises her previous thought; Zed can go un-punched for another day. Which is doubly good, because it means Lilith can go un-murdered-by-Marcus for another day.

Zed reaches into the freezer and retrieves a large box. The box is filled with stethoscopes, hospital gowns, rubber gloves, outdated dentist uniforms, and other items that could most charitably be called ‘medical-related paraphernalia’.

“Here you go,” he tells Krieg. “Time to pick out your healin’ outfit now that you’re a healer.”

Neither of the psychos seem to be aware of the crowd any more. Krieg gets to his feet with renewed energy, probably grinning from ear to ear. He chooses a pair of mismatched scrubs: a shirt that barely reaches his bellybutton, and a pair of trousers that Krieg ties around one arm like a bracer.

“So…” Maya says, carefully. “he… passed the test?”

“What the fuck just happened?” Gaige asks, incredulously. “Psychos are the fucking worst, I swear.”

* * *

* * *

That evening, Bree comes by with a sack slung over her shoulder, Santa-style. She dumps said sack on the floor in front of Flicktrap.

“Here,” she says, unhelpfully. And then she adds “this is all the stupid nautical shit my gram-gram left me when she died. It’s yours now, Flipflap. Keep it or sell it or give it away or dissolve it in acid – whatever – but I don’t want to ever see it again.”

And with that, Bree leaves. Flicktrap looks up at Lucy, her eye shining.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers. She reaches reverently into the bag, and pulls out a tiny silver anchor charm on a chain. “ _Look_ at this. It’s perfect!”

And for a moment, Lucy has to smile. Flicktrap is here, whole and happy. And isn’t that damn near half of what she was trying to do?

Esbiun wanders in the door, with Talon perched on their translucent shoulder.

“What’s kicking?” the ghost asks, conversationally. “Look, I found Bloodwing.”

“ _We_ found a literal and figurative treasure trove,” Flicktrap says, taking out a luxurious-yet-musty captain’s hat, and placing it on her head.

“That, er, isn’t Bloodwing,” Lucy adds. “That’s Talon. He’s a different bird.”

“How can you tell?” Esbiun asks, squinting at Talon’s feathery face. Talon chirps in response.

“Bloodwing is dead,” Lucy says heavily. “My father experimented on her, and then he killed her.”

“ _Cutlasses!_ ” Flicktrap exclaims, taking two leather-wrapped blades from the sack. “I never thought I’d carry a weapon again, but I may have to make an exception for these.”

“Ouch,” Esbiun says, ignoring Flicktrap. “I bet old, uhh—” Esbiun flounders for a moment, and then shapeshifts briefly into Mordecai, “—this guy didn’t take it too well.”

“Mordecai,” Lucy says.

“Why can nobody remember his name?” Flicktrap asks, briefly participating in the conversation before becoming distracted again. “Ohh, an eyepatch!”

“And he took it as well as Pandora needed him too,” Lucy adds, a little defensively. “He didn’t let his grief stop him from obstructing Jack, and saving Pandora. And afterwards, when everything was over, they built a statue of Bloodwing with their other tributes to the fallen. What’s left of her is buried beneath it. You should go and pay your respects sometime.”

Talon has gotten bored with the conversation, and has started herding Lucy’s pigeons into the centre of the room. He does this by standing in the centre of the room.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Esbiun says. “When I lost my claptrap unit, I was inconsolable. I can only imagine…”

The ghost shifts back into Lucy’s form and shakes their head. Flicktrap places the captain’s hat on top of _Lucy’s_ head.

“It was all a long time ago,” she says. “Anyway, Esbiun, what are your pronouns?”

Esbiun tilts their head to the side.

“My whom?”

“Your pronouns,” Lucy repeats. “He? She? They? It?”

“I’m a dude,” Esbiun says, cautiously, looking at Flicktrap as if she might bite.

“Excellent,” Flicktrap says. “Well, sir, would you like this ridiculous pirate beard I just found?”

The pigeons have immediately gone to sleep, huddled under Talon’s wings like babies. Nothing is better, Lucy’s plans are still ruined, but she’s here with her friends and that counts for something.

Right?

“ _Would_ I?” Esbiun replies.

* * *

* * *

“Hyah,” Felicity says, and slices through the air with a shining silver cutlass. Esbiun ducks out of the way neatly and easily, and pokes her with a ghostly finger.

“Gotcha again,” Esbiun grins.

For someone previously named ‘The Skipper’, Felicity is not actually very good at this whole nautical thing. At least, not _yet_. She frowns and slashes at Esbiun again, this time managing to slice some hairs off the tip of the fake beard.

“I’m getting better,” Felicity says, willing that statement to be true, and she strikes again. They’re outside, on a relatively deserted, relatively flat piece of land. Lucy is sitting on the ground, a pile of sleeping birds beside her.

They still haven’t heard back from Eve about the platinum undistorter linkage, and they still haven’t made a serviceable regulator. Felicity channels her frustration into the cutlasses and swings with both of them, this time slicing Esbiun’s fake beard in half and briefly connecting with his shoulder.

“Sweet,” Esbiun says “ya did – oh no, my beard – ya did well that time.”

“Thanks,” Felicity says. “And sorry, in that order, I think.”

She squares up to strike again, and Lucy motions for them to stop.

“Wait, wait,” she says. “Dale is passing by. Sit down with me for a moment, we don’t want to draw his attention.”

Felicity spots Dale’s nomad-esque outline wandering just past a nearby hill, and she huddles down next to the birds. Esbiun takes the spot on the other side of Lucy, who pulls her captain’s hat from her head and drops it into her lap.

The three of them wait, in silence, until Dale passes out of sight.

“I think it’s safe now,” Felicity whispers.

“That could have been very awkward,” Lucy says. “How would we have explained Esbiun? Hi Dale, this is my previously unmentioned identical brother?”

She slings an arm around Esbiun’s slimy-looking neck, as all three of them laugh. And Felicity fights back a sudden, ugly feeling that she’s never encountered before. At least, she hadn’t encountered it outside of her shows, and that one moment when Mordecai explained Brick didn’t love him back.

“I’ve never had a sister before,” Esbiun says.

“I’ve never had a brother,” Lucy replies. “Thank goodness, for their sake.”

There’s no joke now, they’re just _bantering_ , and the feeling expands like a sponge in water. Whatever Lucy’s sense of guilt might tell her, Esbiun is a newcomer, an interloper. If _anyone_ is going to be Lucy’s sibling, even jokingly, shouldn’t it be Felicity? 

Felicity clenches her fists around her cutlasses, angry and confused and ashamed, trying to think of a way to redirect the conversation. But in the end, Esbiun comes to her rescue, jerking a few times and then getting to his feet.

“Crap,” he says. “Something’s attacking me.”

Lucy and Felicity glance around at the now-empty surroundings. Felicity glances at Lucy, and Lucy shrugs.

“Not here,” Esbiun says. “Something’s chewing on the rest of me. Ugh. Probably a lost thresher, or maybe a giant sandworm. Either way, I gotta go.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, shaking her head slightly, as if that will help her process all this new information.

“The rest of _what_?” Lucy asks the empty air.

* * *

* * *

Lilith finds Marcus standing on the edge of the city near Scooter’s old workshop, staring aimlessly at the sky.

“Pretty sure there aren’t any guns or money stashed in the clouds,” she says, cheerfully. He doesn’t respond, so Lilith sighs and walks up to his side.

“There’s something new in Pandora,” Marcus says, quietly, without looking at her. “I can feel it. Something nobody has ever seen before. Two different powers in a single being.”

“Do you mean the ghosts?” Lilith asks.

“What ghosts?” Marcus asks, sounding astonished. “The ones everybody’s been babbling about? I thought they were made-up.”

“No, they’re real,” Lilith says. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Marcus tells her dismissively.

“Well, maybe you should get out more,” Lilith tells him. “The ghosts are everywhere. Mostly they look like Jack, but they can shapeshift. And they’re difficult to kill; maybe impossible.”

“How worried should I be?” Marcus asks, giving her a lengthy, sidelong look.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lilith tells him. “They don’t seem to be able to come to Sanctuary, so there’s no need for anyone here to panic or evacuate.”

Marcus nods firmly.

“Good,” he says. “That’s how it should be.”

Lilith pats him on one grease-stained shoulder, and then starts to leave.

“Gotta jet,” she says. “By the way, Krieg passed his exam. You might want to congratulate him on that, next time you see him.”

Marcus doesn’t respond until Lilith is halfway up the stairs.

“I don’t think it’s the ghosts that I’m sensing,” he calls. “I think it’s something else.”

“Well,” Lilith says. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it.”

* * *

* * *

That night, Brick builds a campfire, and they sit around it, telling each other stories. Lucy tries to forget about Esbiun and his drama, at least for the moment.

“Lemme tell you about Behemoth,” Mordecai says, unsteadily. “The biggest, baddest spore in Aegrus.”

“Are you drunk?” Lucy asks.

“No, but I accidentally ate some sugar crystals,” Mordecai tells her, grinning crookedly and resting most of his weight against Brick’s side.

“All right, let’s hear it,” Lucy says indulgently.

“Behemoth,” says Agwun.

“Behemoth,” says Agtu.

“Is this going to be one of your stories that end with you killing an innocent creature?” Flicktrap asks, morosely.

“Shh,” Mordecai says. “Talon, Brick and I took a job in Aegrus. There was a huge spore that was destroying buildings, eating vehicles, and just generally murdering people. The locals called it Behemoth. Supposed to be impossible to beat. But after our first night there, I walked outside and there was the body of a giant spore, right next to my tent, totally dead. And Talon – heh heh – was sitting in the middle of its giblets, looking so pleased with himself.”

“You were so proud,” Brick says, tucking his arm around Mordecai more tightly.

“You were proud too,” Mordecai says. “You’re his co-parent. I mean, I’m his favourite, but you’re next.”

“Well, that went relatively well,” Flicktrap tells them, sounding surprised. “Good job.”

“Oh, it didn’t really,” Mordecai says, with a wave of his not-jammed-against-Brick arm. “Turns out Talon accidentally killed Benedict, a genetic clone of Behemoth, who’d become a sort of benevolent god to the local villages. But after that, we found the _actual_ Behemoth, and Brick killed him with like, five punches.”

“Pretty sure it was four,” Brick says grandly.

“Ah,” Flicktrap says, unhappily. “How delightful.”

“Tell us another story!” Lucy urges them. “Preferably one without violence.”

“I don’t think humans have any stories like that,” Flicktrap mutters.

“Don’t you know, like, every story that’s ever existed?” Brick asks Lucy. “Why don’t you tell one?”

“Hmm,” Lucy says, searching her memory for non-horrible myths and anecdotes. Before she can come up with a reasonable suggestion, Agwun interrupts her.

“Tell a love story!” he says.

Lucy sighs. Mordecai and Brick very carefully don’t look at each other.

“Yes, please,” Flicktrap says, with some enthusiasm. “Romance is my favourite media genre.”

“This is going to be a story about Moxxi, isn’t it?” Mordecai groans.

“I hope it’s the one where those goliaths killed everyone after they got married,” Brick says.

“Uhh,” Lucy says, stupidly.

“Tell the story of the Narrator and Miss K,” Agtu suggests. “It’s Agwun’s favourite.”

“Bo-ring,” Brick replies.

“Is it too late to go back to stories about Moxxi?” Mordecai asks. “This one gives me the creeps.”

“You don’t have to listen,” Flicktrap tells him. “Go on, Lucy.”

“It’s a very old story, set a long time ago,” Lucy says wearily. “The Narrator was one of the first Eridians, or so the story goes. He was practically a god. He spoke the universe into existence, and then he settled into a quiet life on Pandora.”

“Fast forward to thousands of years later,” Agwun says, snuggling into Agtu with a series of uncomfortable-sounding clanks.

“Yes,” Lucy agrees. “He met a human merchant woman called Miss K. Eridians aren’t supposed to fall in love with mortals, but he did. And… she did. She they were in love.”

“You are _terrible_ at telling romance stories,” Flicktrap interjects.

“And then they had a couple of kids,” Lucy continues loudly, glaring at the little robot. “Weird half-eridian mutants. And then Miss K got old and died, and the Narrator was so sad that _he_ died as well, even though he was a godlike immortal. The end.”

“It’s so beautifully sad,” Agwun babbles.

“It’s definitely some kind of sad,” Mordecai says. “Anyone else have any requests?”

“Any NOT STUPID requests,” Brick adds.

For a moment, Flicktrap sits quietly, contemplating something. She’s been a little out-of-sorts since the sparring match against Esbiun.

“I have a request,” Flicktrap says, finally. “I want to hear a different kind of story. Tell me about your friends in Sanctuary. Tell me about _Athena_.”

Maybe Lucy is imagining things, or maybe there’s something nasty in her voice when she says Athena’s name.

* * *

* * *

The next day, they build a perfectly serviceable relay regulator at the forge. When the sun starts to set, Felicity goes off on her own, her mind still full of Lucy and undeserving siblings, and of Athena and revenge.

She clambers up onto a rooftop and stares down at the Slablands, and tries to force herself to think of happy things: of Talon and sailing, and of the pink fuzzy bubble that Brick and Mordecai seem to occupy whenever they’re together.

It’s not _logical_ for Felicity to want to be Lucy’s sister. She’s an AI, she doesn’t and can’t have family, and Lucy’s family is the worst, anyway. And yet…

A rock skitters past Felicity, bouncing off the edge of the roof and tumbling to the ground. She’s aware of someone standing behind her, and hopes for a moment that it’s Lucy, come to apologise.

_Apologise for what?_

A second stone rolls by capriciously, and Felicity sighs.

“Spara,” she says firmly, “I am not in the mood to talk to you right now. Actually, I have never been and never will be in the mood to talk to you.”

A third stone barely misses her chassis, and Felicity finally turns around.

“ _Spara_ ,” she snaps, and then stops. The figure behind her is definitely not the Junior Blacksmith, although he _is_ familiar, especially the magpie mask covering his face.

“Hey there,” he says, or rather doesn’t say, but he lifts an arm and glowing red words spell out ‘ _Hey there’_ in the air.

“Uggo,” Felicity says. “How on earth did you get here without being attacked by Slabs?”

The man presses a few buttons on his bracer, and then the glowing words change to ‘ _I’m a thief and also not completely incompetent’._

Felicity laughs. Uggo walks over to her and crouches down. Then he passes her something heavy in an expensive-looking box.

‘ _A gift from Pickle,’_ the words explain. ‘ _No payment needed’_

It’s a platinum undistorter linkage. If Felicity had a mouth, she would be gaping with it.

“How did he know?” she asks, amazed. “You magpies are amazing.”

Uggo fiddles with his bracer again. Felicity watches the bottom of the screen, where predictive technology cycles through several commonly used phrases. Expected phrases, like ‘ _Eliza no!’_ and ‘ _Stop that, Pickle’_ and ‘ _that is not how rhyming slang works’_. And a few phrases Felicity didn’t expect, like ‘ _I’m not him, I swear’_.

If Uggo notices her watching, he doesn’t mind. After a few seconds he decides what he wants to say, and the words ‘ _they’re good kids’_ glow in the air.

“They _are_ good kids,” Felicity agrees. Pickle has never once tried to force her into a constructor body to become the brainwashed foundation of Handsome Jack’s horrid army. And for that matter, neither has Eliza. “How did they end up with you?”

‘ _They needed a pilot’_

“And you’re a pilot? Or do you just fly craft for enjoyment?”

‘ _Neither_ ’

Felicity picks up one of the errant rocks, turning it over in her Claptrap claw hands.

“Then why do you stay with them?” she asks.

‘ _They’re my people. I’m not going to leave them. It’s a big, bad world and,’_ Uggo stops to tap something out on his bracer ‘ _they’re kind of naïve. When I met Eliza, she had no idea what Handsome Jack looked like_. _They live in their own little worlds. Worlds of high-end burglary, but still_ ’

“Huh,” Felicity says. “Everyone has their own people, I suppose. Even outlaws.”

‘ _We’re on Pandora. Everyone is an outlaw’_

Felicity wonders if she’s an outlaw. She’s probably at least an accomplice, from spending so much time around the trigger-happy Mordecai. Felicity sets the rock down beside her, and hugs the precious package against her body. With this, she can finally keep her people together. All they need to do is build the JamSquared and Brick will be able to leave the Slablands at last.

“What about you? Have you always been unable to talk?”

‘ _I can talk. I don’t talk_ ’

“Why?”

Uggo pauses for a moment, then types strenuously.

‘ _Marcus Kincaid tells the story of a woman whose voice was so loud and so awful, that just hearing her made everyone’s eardrums rupture. She stopped talking out of courtesy to others. I do the same thing’_

_“_ Oookay,” Felicity says. “You might have just said you didn’t want to answer the question.”

For a moment, a glowing red smiley face hangs in the air. Then Uggo gets back to his feet.

‘ _I have to get back to my kids,’_ he tells her. ‘ _Good luck. And I’m glad you’re alive’_

“Tell them to stay away from Eve,” Felicity calls after him. “I assume she’s the one who contacted you on my behalf. She’s trouble.”

‘ _I know_ ’

And with that, Uggo drops down from the roof and starts making his way across the sandy grounds. Felicity gets up and starts making her way to the house, to tell Brick the good news.

* * *

* * *

“Janey knows where to get all the necessary equipment for the planet-scanner,” Athena says. “But a few of the pieces will be prohibitively expensive. We need money.”

“Then you need to ask Sir Hammerlock to call his sister,” Lilith tells her, wearily. Athena _knows_ the protocol for getting funding, she just doesn’t approve of it.

Athena hesitates, chewing on her lower lip.

“Surely there’s another way,” she says. “Some of the vault hunters must have savings.”

“Do _you_ have disposable savings?” Lilith asks. Then she gestures down at her own ripped and decade-old clothes. “Do _I_ look like I have money that I don’t immediately spend on treats for Talon?”

“Well, what about Marcus?” Athena continues, unperturbed. “He has a literal monopoly on weapons and ammunition sales on this planet, he must have piles of cash.”

“Marcus spends what he earns, as he earns it,” Lilith informs her. “All his money goes into his orph… er… his awful slot-machine habit. Just ask Hammerlock to call his sister.”

“But I worked with Aurelia,” Athena points out. “I know what she’s like, and I know how she talks about her brother.”

“And you know how rich she is,” Lilith adds, sweetly. “All these things are important. We need the planet-scanner to find out if the ghost is hiding underground. You need to do this.”

“Understood,” Athena says, through very gritted teeth. “Athena out.”

* * *

* * *

“Guess who made a relay regulator?” Lucy says, pointing at her chest. “This girl! And Felicity, of course.”

Felicity isn’t with her tonight. The little robot left before dusk with a muttered excuse and the same irritated demeanour she’d had all day. Lucy is worried about her.

“Hurrah for robots,” Esbiun says. “Useful little bastards. I’d offer you a drink to celebrate but, you know, I’m not _allowed_ to.”

“Will we still be able to see each other once I get back to Sanctuary?” Lucy asks. They’re sitting outside under the stars, at a roughly-hewn bench close to the Slablands boundary.

Esbiun shrugs his ghostly shoulder.

“I can’t exactly stroll into Sanctuary in my current state,” he says. “If I could, I’d be there right now.”

“Sanctuary is your home?” Lucy asks. She remembers Esbiun saying he’d wanted to be resurrected so that he could go home.

“Yep. I got family there, so, first stop is Vault of the Resurrector, second stop is Sanctuary.”

“Wow,” Lucy says. “You’ve got a plan, that’s good.”

There was a time when she had a plan, with exactly two steps and everything. Really, she needs to make a new plan. She’s not done obliterating her father, or wiping his legacy from the planet.

“Say, you’ll help me, right?” Esbiun asks her, quietly. “I don’t have too many friends on account of all the scaring. And I’m kinda powerful, but opening a vault is _hard_. I could use someone like you.”

“What could I possibly do?” Lucy asks. “You got any computers you really hate?”

She laughs at her own sad joke, and Esbiun laughs with her. And then he stops, abruptly.

“I got a couple of people that need getting rid of,” he says. “Well, just the one person, but there are a few others who’ll insist on getting in the way. I can’t beat ‘em in a fair fight, but _you’re_ a sweet little girl. Nobody in Sanctuary will suspect you.”

Lucy laughs even harder. Esbiun waits in silence until she picks herself up off the floor.

“Good one,” she says. “You really had me for a minute there.”

And then she looks at his face, which is essentially just her face with less colour, and with a stone cold serious expression. Lucy feels an ice-cold fist clench around her heart.

“Oh no,” she says softly. “You’re not joking. Fuck.”

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 8_  
  
  
  
  



	8. Happiness (vii): Communication

* * *

* * *

When Felicity arrives, Brick and Mordecai are sitting back-to-back on the skagskin rug. Mordecai has both dogs in his lap, and Freckles’ head leaning against his shoulder. Talon is perched on Brick’s thigh, sleeping snuggled against Brick’s chest like a newly hatched chick. 

“Hello!” Felicity says brightly. “I wanted to announce that we have all the components!”

Mordecai turns to look at her and gives her a thumbs up with his non-dog-holding hand. He looks completely exhausted, which Felicity can tell immediately, because he isn’t wearing his goggles.

“Great job,” he says. “That means we leave as soon as you make the jammer, right?”

He doesn’t sound particularly happy.

“That’s great,” Brick says, much more brightly. Brick _is_ wearing Mordecai’s goggles. These humans are so precious to Felicity. “Good job, Flicktrap.”

Talon cracks open an eyelid, glares at Felicity, then fluffs himself up and goes back to sleep. Mordecai ruffles the fur behind Freckles’ ear.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he tells her. “And your sister. And your dad.”

“Her dad?” Felicity asks, surprised. “Mordecai, Brick isn’t—”

Brick grabs her, and tucks her under his arm. Talon unbalances with an irritated squawk.

“I’m not gonna miss the bird,” Brick says. “All he ever does is complain and leave feathers on all my stuff.”

“Liar,” Mordecai says. Russet pushes her sister out of the way, and Mordecai diplomatically distributes pats between the two of them.

“You haven’t told him?” Felicity whispers to Brick.

“I ain’t telling him until I _know_ the comms are restored,” Brick replies quietly. “The last thing I wanna do is disappoint my friends.”

* * *

* * *

Hammerlock glares at his echo device.

“I can do this,” he tells no-one in particular. “I’ve survived much worse. It’s only a phone call.”

Athena glares at Lilith, who returns the gaze calmly.

“It would be most gentlemanly,” Lilith tells Hammerlock, “if you could do this for us. _Now._ ”

He’s called his sister before. It always ends the same way. Athena wouldn’t know – and maybe in the face of the terror that is Aurelia, _Hammerlock_ has forgotten – but it always ends with them getting money in exchange for nothing but a little bit of annoyance.

A mask of determination sets over Hammerlock’s face. He nods once to Lilith, twiddles a dial, and connects to the number labelled ‘Aurelia’ with a barely-shaking hand.

“I’ll do the talking,” Athena tells him.

“Oh, none of us are doing the talking,” Lilith informs her. Then she lifts up her hands and plugs both her ears, as if she's expecting a bomb to go off nearby. Athena gives her a look that could melt glass.

Someone picks up at the other end.

“HIYA BEST FRIEND, WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO CALL YOUR EVIL SISTER?”

“Oh,” Hammerlock says, startling, and then visibly relaxing. “I quite forgot we changed her number to yours in my echo device.”

“THAT’S PARTLY WHY WE SET UP THE REDIRECT IN THE FIRST PLACE,” Mr Torgue roars. “HOW MUCH MONEY DO YOU NEED THIS TIME?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you for money,” Hammerlock says.

“I would,” Athena cuts in. “Two and a half billion dollars, Torgue. It’s for a planet-scanner.”

“NO F*CKING PROBLEM. DO YOU NEED THAT IN UNMARKED NON-SEQUENTIAL BANK NOTES, OR…?”

“Just transfer the money into my account,” Lilith says. “You should still have the details from last time.”

After the conversation is over, she grins at Athena and says

“And that’s how we use Hammerlock’s sister to get money.”

“So now we’re just wringing every cent out of the only sympathetic weapons manufacturing CEO we have?” Athena asks irritably, but Lilith suspects she’s just angry at being wrong. “Does Hammerlock like doing that to his friend?”

“It’s quite all right,” Hammerlock informs her. “I’m acknowledging his help on the back cover of my almanac, so really, we’re even.”

Athena makes a frustrated noise, and stomps out.

* * *

* * *

“I’m not killing anyone for you,” Lucy says, flatly. “And I’m not letting _you_ kill anyone in Sanctuary, either. Did you really think for even a second that I’d agree to this plan?”

“Come ooon,” Esbiun says. He takes a step towards Lucy and Lucy takes a step backwards. “It’s someone you don’t even like that much, probably. It’s one death, maybe a couple of deaths at most. You’ve killed people before.”

Lucy shakes her head, tears burning the corners of her eyes. _Why is this happening?_

“I don’t kill innocent people of my own volition,” she says. “And I don’t kill Sanctuary citizens at all, ever.”

Esbiun tilts his chin.

“You’re weak,” he observes. “But if you do this for me, I can make you stronger. I can lend you some of my power.”

He advances again, and Lucy retreats. She has just enough forethought to steer herself towards the trees, over the border between the Slablands and the wilderness outside.

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Lucy says, gripped with abject horror. “I thought we were friends. I felt sorry for you. I gave up my own goals to help you with yours!”

“And there it is,” the ghost says, his tone somewhere between angry and miserable. “You _do_ want the Vault of the Resurrector too, don’t you? You wanna get your dinky little siren powers back. I suspected, you know, but I hoped I was wrong. I hoped you wouldn’t be so selfish.”

Lucy feels a surge of rage. It mixes with the fear and drives her forward, even as it makes her feel nauseated.

“I tried to help you!” she snaps. “I genuinely wanted you to succeed.”

Esbian spreads his fingers, which are nothing more than a cheap copy of Lucy’s own.

“Then help me succeed.”

“Not if that means killing a Sanctuary citizen. I’d die first.”

Lucy has a _lot_ of people she considers her own. Her first – and fondest – were Mordecai and his friends. The original four vault hunters. But then the circle expanded: the brilliant Moxxi and her rev-head son, the healing psycho, the mad and madly competent scientist, the gunbringer with the suspicious genealogy, the world’s Last and Most Annoying Claptrap unit. All of them are her people, and on this she cannot budge.

“Have it your way,” Esbiun snarls. “This is my own fault, for thinking that you – an only child who murdered her mother and betrayed her father – could possibly understand anything to do with family.”

Lucy feels the hairs prickle on the back of her neck.

“You’ve been trying to manipulate me, haven’t you?” she asks. “You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you.”

Esbiun looks taken aback, and Lucy nods to herself unhappily.

“Are you even human?” she asks. “Why don’t you prove it right now? Show me your real human form, the one that isn’t a copy of someone else’s, and I’ll feel sympathy for you again promptly.”

Esbiun gives a bark of laughter. He looks at the sky, the surrounding trees, the ground, and then back to Lucy.

“You got me there,” he says, and Lucy ignores the way he sounds a little bit impressed with her.

The ghost – or whatever Esbiun is – lied to her, repeatedly, and without shame. They are not friends anymore, and Lucy is determined to not be sad about that.

“What are you, really?” she asks, quietly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Esbiun replies.

“Was it my father, or his employees, who experimented on you?”

Esbiun lunges forward suddenly, and grabs Lucy by the throat, lifting her up off the ground with upsetting ease.

“See,” Esbiun says, tightening his grip, “the thing is that now we’re rivals, you and me. And I _could_ just race you to that vault, because it would be super entertaining to watch you lose. But killing you right now is just as entertaining, and it has the added security bonus of you already being dead come D-day.”

Lucy gasps for breath, quite unsuccessfully. She kicks at Esbiun with her feet, but the ghost doesn’t seem to feel pain. She’s going to die the way Jack killed Tassiter. She’s going to die staring at her own face.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Esbiun informs her, lightly. “I’m _only_ gonna choke you to death. I could do a lot worse.”

Lucy really wishes she had a cutlass. Or a Talon. Assuming either of those things work… on… Esbiun…

“I gotta say, I admire some things about your dad,” Esbiun tells her. “A huge army like that commands a certain level of respect. But he was just a glorified tech nerd. He couldn’t even catch me, let alone hold me and conduct experiments on me.”

Lucy doesn’t have the strength to fight back, or speak, or do anything at all, but in the darkening corners of her brain she pulls out and dusts off the plan labelled _Operation Obliterate Jack, part two._

“ _You_ don’t have an army, though,” the ghost continues. “You’re all alone in the world, and—”

And then there’s an explosion, and the smell of rocket launcher fuel, and Esbiun dissolves like a sugar cube in water. Lucy collapses to her knees, wheezing for breath, hurting and angry and sad and betrayed.

Esbiun tries to reform a few feet away, and Eve shoots him again. Lucy had always assumed her ability to shoot ghosts was based on her special shotguns, but apparently she can wield any weapon against them with ease.

Esbiun vanishes again, and this time he doesn’t come back. Eve stands a few feet away from Lucy.

“I…am…so…glad to…see you,” Lucy gasps. She can breathe. Oh god, she can breathe.

“I didn’t really think,” Eve says irritably, “that I needed to tell you _not_ to befriend the supernatural bad guy.”

Lucy nods, and opens her mouth to explain about the booster matrix, and Esbiun’s manipulations, and the sense of obligation Lucy has to those that are hurt by her father. But all that comes out is a wavering wail, and suddenly Lucy is crying and shaking and unable to stop.

Eve kneels down beside Lucy and hugs her tightly, and holds her until all the tears are spent.

* * *

* * *

Felicity goes looking for Lucy. There’s no reason to waste any more time: they should build the JamSquared _tonight_. They can sleep tomorrow, on the bus.

_Yes, probably on the bus_.

Felicity takes out the little wristcuff she found in the bottom of Bree’s sack earlier that afternoon. It’s unremarkably plain. The only feature is a round plastic button, which has been divided down the middle by a thin line of aluminium. The engraving on the other side says ‘ _The Ship Summoner. Requirement: two true, and willing captains’._ She’s already tried pressing the button, of course. One side lit up encouragingly for a moment, but nothing else happened.

_Does Brick count as a captain_?

If a reconstituted AI whose only qualification is running a military vessel for a few years counts, then surely the Slab King also counts. Imagine if they could summon a ship here. Pandoran ships traverse sand and land as easily as water, and three times faster than any bus.

Eventually, Felicity finds Lucy outside the border of the Slablands, near a copse of trees, leaning against Eve.

_Huh. Esbiun’s not around, and she still doesn’t need me_ , Felicity thinks, unkindly. But then she hears Lucy sob.

“You shouldn’t speak to that ghost again,” Eve says.

“Esbiun,” Lucy mumbles.

“If that’s even his real name, then sure, don’t speak to Esbiun again,” Eve continues, without missing a beat. “If you’d asked any experienced adult, they could have told you he was going to betray you.”

_Oh_. For all her misgivings, Felicity had _not_ been expecting that.

“Talon liked him,” Lucy says, pitifully.

“Oh my god,” Eve says. “Look, if the bird jumped off a cliff, would you follow it?”

Lucy laughs croakily.

“Maybe if I had my siren wings back,” she says.

“Just leave the ghost to me from now on,” Eve says grimly. “I can protect you from him. And I’m _good_ at not listening to the crap he says.”

“It’s not enough to just protect me,” Lucy says. “You have to protect Fel—”

“Felicity, I know,” Eve interrupts. “You can just assume I’m going to protect her as well. I know what she means to you.”

“ _And_ the Slabs,” Lucy says, “and the people of Sanctuary.”

“What? I can’t do all of that. Do you think _I’m_ a siren? Besides, last I heard, Esbiun – or whatever his name is – can’t get into Sanctuary.”

Lucy considers this for a moment. Felicity feels an unexpected rush of happiness. She was first. She was the first name in the list of people Lucy wanted to protect.

Felicity also feels… whatever the name is for the emotion of wanting to punch a ghost until he re-dies into a thousand tiny pieces. The Truxican language probably has a word for it.

“At _least_ Brick and Mordecai,” Lucy bargains.

“Ugh, fine.”

“And Talon and the dogs.”

“You’re pushing it, kid.”

Eve sounds annoyed, but she and Lucy keep leaning against each other like friends. Like friends who don’t lag just by being close together. It must be nice.

Felicity stations herself a few yards away, far enough that it seems like she isn’t eavesdropping, but close enough that she’s clearly waiting for Lucy.

The humans fall silent for a while. Felicity puts away the wristcuff, and re-examines the undistorter linkage. It’s shiny and sleek and perfect. She’ll keep the box, if she’s able, as a memento of Pickle. Who knows when they’ll meet again?

“Hey, Eve?” Lucy asks, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I have a tattoo of a star on my back. It wasn’t there before I died, but it’s there now. I never did anything to get it, it just sort of appeared. Have you ever heard of something like this happening?”

Eve takes her arm from Lucy’s neck, and folds her hands together in her lap.

“It’s a rebirthmark,” she says, with astonishing confidence. Felicity has never heard of such a thing before.

“I don’t know what that is,” Lucy says. “And that makes me uneasy.”

“It means that technically, you died and came back to life,” Eve elaborates. “Sometimes that process leaves a mark. But there’s nothing to worry about, the mark is inert. You can think of it like a giant, weird freckle. Or a real tattoo.”

“Temporally, my death is correlated with losing my powers,” Lucy says, slowly. “I nearly died – or maybe I did die – in the Control Core, and the next thing I remember was being alive again with Agwun and Agtu, months later. During those months, I lost my powers and I… apparently stopped being dead. Could the rebirthmark be blocking my siren abilities?”

“It’s just a mark,” Eve tells her. “It can’t block anything, kiddo. Not even the sun, so don’t forget to wear sunscreen.”

Lucy processes this in silence for a minute.

“I’ve never seen anyone else with a mark like this,” she says. “At least, nothing that was so recognisably star-shaped. Do you think I’m the only one?”

Eve picks at a fabric strip circling her left forefinger. She tugs it loose, and suddenly the covering over her entire left hand unwinds from fingertips to wrist. She shows her bare hand to Lucy. Felicity engages binocular vision, and yes, there is an identical star mark on Eve’s palm.

“Does that answer your question?” she asks, quietly. “It’s not just you.”

* * *

* * *

“Consider this your only warning,” the Sleet King says. His polished metal power suit glitters in the light of… whatever he’s using to illuminate the video feed.

“That’s nice,” Lilith says, smoothly. “We don’t usually get warnings from you at all.”

“Oh good one,” someone says acidly, from behind the King’s shoulder. “You’re _so_ clever and good at conversation.”

“Hi Rocko,” Lilith replies. “Anyway, what am I being warned about?”

“You are being warned,” the Sleet King continues, “to surrender the land known as Tundra Express to the Sleets, and to call off your ridiculous hounds at our border before we euthanize them for you.”

“There are like, two hounds at your border,” Lilith says. She finds a piece of unidentifiable fruit under her desk and takes a bite of it. “Pretty sure you would have already killed them if you could.”

Ellie and Axton are resourceful and tenacious, and Tina is stronger than either of them.

“And I’m not surrendering land to you!” Lilith adds. “I am _not_ gonna help you expand your stupid Sleet empire.”

“If you don’t,” the King tells her, “then I will destroy you.”

Lilith chews leisurely. The fruit tastes like old leather.

“You’re gonna destroy all of us?” she asks. “All of Sanctuary and the Highlands? The Tundra? The Arid Badlands? The Children of Helios? _Everyone?_ ”

The Sleets don’t rely on Zed, from what she’s heard. They’ve got a healer of their own. But still, there are plenty of people they wouldn’t be able to afford to kill. Mechanics like Moxxi are hard to find. And Marcus is one-of-a-kind.

The Sleet King leans towards the camera, his face invisible behind the helm of the power suit.

“And how many would I need to kill to destroy _you_ , Firehawk?” he asks. “How many more losses can you bear? Twenty? Five? Two?”

_Two. Does he mean Brick and Mordecai? How much does he know about us? About me?_

“Is that a threat?” Lilith snaps.

“Yes,” Rocko says, exasperatedly.

“You have forty-eight hours to comply,” the King adds, steepling his metal-covered fingers in front of his chest. “Then you will pay.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy feels a rush of warmth when she finds Flicktrap waiting for her by the border, and another when Bree and the loaders join them in their makeshift workshop. Together, they lay every single JamSquared piece out on the concrete, side-by-side like a production line.

“I can’t believe the magpies swooped in to help us,” Lucy says. “That was very nice of them.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be, like, mercenaries?” Bree asks. “They seem kind of crappy at it.”

“They’re old friends of mine,” Flicktrap explains. “Well, one of them is. Anyway, let’s assemble this jammer so we can get out of here.”

“Are you okay?” Agwun asks Lucy quietly. “You seem unhappy.”

“And exhausted,” Agtu adds.

“I’ve been busy,” Lucy tells them, too brightly. She doesn’t even know how to begin processing Esbiun’s betrayal and Eve’s star and the fact that she was apparently _brought back from the dead_. But she doesn’t need to think about any of that right now. She has a job to do, thank goodness.

“How much can _you_ assemble?” Flicktrap asks Lucy. “What is the risk of the jammer breaking if it encounters your lag powers?”

Lucy snickers.

“Lag powers, I like that phrasing. Anyway, I think I should be able to—”

She’s interrupted by someone knocking on the workshop door. Lucy looks up, and sees her own face. Well, a pale, ghostly version of her face… and the muzzle of a gun.

“ _You!_ ” Flicktrap snarls, seething.

“ _You!”_ Bree says, with the smug anger of a fox encountering a rabbit.

“Hey kids,” Esbiun says, and he fires the gun three times in the direction of the JamSquared parts, destroying the booster matrix completely.

“Rude,” Bree says.

Before anyone else can react, she runs directly at Esbiun, who turns and fires at her. Bree doesn’t even slow down.

“My gram-gram survived for a long time after Captain Blade decided she should die,” she explains, brushing off two more shots like they’re snowflakes. “Mostly because of this particular shield.”

She reaches the doorway and swings at Esbiun, who ducks and then runs like the lying coward he is.

“Come back here!” Bree yells, still pursuing him, her voice still somehow completely monotonous. “My fists are angry.”

After a few seconds the two of them are gone from sight.

“Apparently that’s why she’s the Vice King,” Agtu explains.

“Should we help her?” Lucy asks, uncertainly.

“She does not need our help,” Agwun declares.

“And we have more than enough to deal with here,” Flicktrap says. “We just lost our booster matrix. Now what?”

Lucy sits down, perhaps a little more heavily than usual. She runs a hand roughly through her hair once, then twice, then again.

Agwun looks at Agtu.

“There’s no salvaging it,” Flicktrap says, sweeping the faintly-smoking remains of the matrix into a small pile. “We need a new one.”

“We can’t _get_ a new one,” Lucy reminds her, and then she has an idea. “Maybe if you show me the Sleet files on their jamming system, we’ll find something.”

“Really?” Flicktrap asks, exasperatedly. “We’ve reviewed those files so many times. The JamSquared is the only thing that will work.”

Agtu looks at Agwun.

“Maybe we missed something,” Lucy says, too brightly.

She can’t give up now. She _can’t_.

* * *

* * *

Agwun and Agtu wander outside, presumably to stare at the power tools. Mordecai and Brick come down to the workshop to help, and Bree shows up again, covered in sweat and positively _grinning_. And yet, they do not make any progress.

“We just need one pristine badass loader,” Lucy says desperately. “The nearest Sleet encampment isn’t too far from here. If I could just—”

“No-one is attacking the Sleets,” Brick and Bree say in unison. Brick looks at the Vice King proudly for a moment, then turns back to them.

“No-one,” he repeats. “They’ll retaliate—”

“What if they don’t know it was us?” Lucy asks. “What if—”

She is interrupted by the discordant shriek of buzz saw against metal, coming from just outside. Lucy knocks against the wall.

“Not helping, you two,” she calls to the loaders.

“The Sleets will retaliate at the Slabs anyway,” Brick tells her. “They blame us for everything. And we blame them. That’s the way it is.”

“Plus,” Bree adds, “the Sleet King is like, super crazy. He was never a Slab, he’s just some rando they found to lead them when Brick wouldn’t.”

“I agree with the Vice King,” Mordecai says. “Steer clear of Milun, all of you.”

“ _Mil_ un?” Felicity asks, sceptically. “That sounds like a fashion hub, not a person’s name.”

There’s another ear-splitting whirr from outside, as Agwun and Agtu apparently take out their frustrations on another helpless piece of metal. Felicity makes a sighing noise.

Bree turns to Mordecai.

“Is it true what they say about his hands?” she asks, in a stage whisper.

“This _isn’t_ helping,” Lucy says sharply. “We need that matrix.”

“We do,” Felicity agrees. She’s not willing to give up on Brick. She wants her boys together, which means she _needs_ the communications back up and running.

“I imagine so,” Mordecai says quietly to Bree. “Most people can give things and receive things with their hands. It’s not particularly special or exciting.”

“But it’s the _way_ people say it,” Brick argues. “It sounds… spooky.” Then he glances at Lucy’s agonised face and shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“Think,” Lucy says, ignoring Brick. “There must be something somewhere we can use, even if—”

She is interrupted by another loud, metallic buzz from outside.

“What are they even _doing_?” Lucy asks, exasperatedly. And Felicity, equally fed up, goes to the door to look.

She finds a single, unfamiliar loader outside on the grass. It stands at about twenty feet – much taller than Agwun or Agtu – with four arms and two well-lit eyes. It is holding a chainsaw in one hand and a used booster matrix in the other.

Felicity reaches for her cutlasses, her thoughts turning to violence as easily as any human’s.

“Who are you?” she demands. “What have you done with my friends?”

The loader bends down and extends an arm towards her, offering the booster matrix. The component is warm to touch, and Felicity feels suddenly ill.

“We’ll not be accepting any more gifts from monsters,” she says, brandishing the sharper blade in front of her. “Who _are_ you, and what have you done with our loaders? And how did you get… a spare matrix... out here?”

Felicity is dimly aware of the others rallying behind her.

“Whoa, giant robot,” Bree says. “I’m totally gonna punch it.”

“What _is_ that?” Brick asks. “My heads-up display calls it a badass loader, but the word ‘badass’ has a little number two next to it.”

“Flicktrap,” the loader says, just a little unsteadily. “Please do not attack me.”

“Oh no,” Mordecai says softly.

“Oh _no_ ,” Lucy says, sounding as if she might faint. “Stop it. Both of you stop it right now.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Felicity says, indignantly. “Tell the giant robot to stop it, not me!”

“Yeah! I think it ate Agwun and Agtu,” Brick says, positioning his fists for battle.

“I think it _is_ Agwun and Agtu,” Mordecai tells him.

“Correct,” the loader replies. “This is the best way forward, for several reasons. But this body only needs one matrix. You can have the other.”

“You just… sliced and diced your way… into a single body?” Felicity asks, feeling nauseated, which should technically be impossible.

“I knew you would dislike the idea,” the giant robot tells Lucy. “So I decided to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.”

Lucy is leaning heavily on Mordecai’s shoulder. Her face is pale and drawn.

“Oh,” she says hoarsely.

* * *

* * *

“Hello,” Karima says brightly. It’s three thirty am, and Lilith’s call _must_ have woken her up, but Karima’s hair is perfect, her skin is dewy, and every flower on her head is crisp and unblemished.

Lilith sort of hates her.

“Hi,” Lilith replies. “We’ve got ghost activity to the southwest of the Overlook surrounds. It’s in range of a couple of your auto turrets, but I’d like you to use your manual guns as well.”

“I’ll activate them now,” Karima says, pressing buttons with furious precision. “I wonder what a ghost is doing southwest of here. There’s nothing there but the graveyard and an abandoned bakery. Do you think it’s gone there to die?”

Lilith smiles.

“I doubt it, but it would be impolite not to use all our firepower. Just in case.”

Karima smiles back, and Lilith doesn’t hate her at all.

* * *

* * *

Lucy floats dimly through the next half an hour. Someone finishes building the JamSquared. Someone tests out the local communications, and finds them to be finally, gloriously intact. Some people celebrate. Someone very tall and metal sits down a short distance away from her.

“What do I call you?” Lucy asks, quietly. “Agwuntu? Agboth?”

“Simple mathematics will suffice,” the loader says. “Call us Agthri.”

Lucy nods, still staring into the distance. Nothing seems to be in focus. Everything is a little too much.

“You sacrificed yourselves so we’d have the component,” she says. “It’s my fault. I spent too much time with Flicktrap and the humans. I made you feel like outcasts.”

She is turning into her father, after _everything_.

“You made us feel free,” Agthri tells her. “There are stories of other loaders who were able to introspect; to understand and become their own individual selves. You gave us that same privilege. We are what we want to be now.”

Lucy doubts that very, very much. But she is prevented from saying so by Brick, who summons her over to where the others are gathered.

“We’re going to call Lilith,” Mordecai says.

“She is gonna be _so_ surprised,” Brick adds.

“I’ve never even met the woman, and yet I’m excited for this call,” Flicktrap tells them.

Mordecai holds a small device out in front of him. It buzzes for a few moments, and then Lucy hears static and the voice of Lilith the Firehawk, leader of the Crimson Raiders, and one of the few people in Lucy’s life who doesn’t currently have any terrible mysteries associated with her.

“Mordecai?” Lilith says. “You’re back already? How was the trip? Did you see Brick?”

Her first three questions are delivered warmly, the last with a quiet edge of panic. Mordecai answers her in order.

“Speaking. I’m not back yet. The trip is going okay. And Brick… is right here.”

Brick leans in violently, pushing others out of the way.

“LILITH!” he roars.

For a moment, there is silence.

“Brick?” Lilith asks. “Is that actually you?”

“We restored the Slablands communications,” Mordecai says quickly. “Now we can talk to Brick whenever we want.”

“BRICK!” Lilith yells.

“LILITH!!”

“BRICK!!”

“LILITH!!!”

“BRICK!!!!”

“Scintillating,” Bree whispers to Lucy.

Lilith laughs, and for all of the prying and spying Lucy did for Jack, she has never once heard Lilith laugh before. The original four vault hunters were the first people in which Lucy let herself get invested. They were her first _people_. And now three of them are smiling.

Lucy takes a steadying breath.

“Hang on,” Lilith says, suddenly. “Back in a second.”

In the relative silence that follows, Brick hoists Mordecai up onto his shoulder, and Flicktrap says

“Wow, Pandoran hold music is really terrible.”

“It’s all from Gingertown,” Lucy informs her. “There’s a psycho band there that specialises in ear-bleedingly festive music.”

And then, finally, she turns and looks up and Agthri, and manages to put her thoughts into words.

“This is really what you want to be? A robot with two minds and one body?”

“Hyperion would call it abhorrent,” Agthri says gleefully. “All deviation from the norm is abhorrent.”

“What would you call it?” Lucy asks.

“Married,” Agthri replies.

* * *

* * *

Over the phone, Felicity hears a muffled grunt, the sound of rapid footsteps, and then the unmistakable crackle of burning flame. Something significant seems to be happening on the other end of the line.

“You’ll meet Lilith when we get to Sanctuary,” Lucy informs Felicity. “She’s a siren. A real one, with all her powers.”

“You’re a real siren, too,” Brick assures Lucy. “I think. Probably.”

“We’re gonna leave the Slablands soon, huh?” Mordecai asks, quietly.

Felicity glares at Brick, but he’s too preoccupied with looking at Mordecai to notice.

“With the comms back up, we have no reason to stay,” Lucy tells him. “We can leave without worrying about—”

“Sorry to interrupt!” Lilith says loudly, cutting through the conversation. “Listen, do any of you have experience with the ghosts?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucy says. For what it’s worth, she sounds a little brighter than she did before. “I tried to befriend him, but it didn’t work out.”

“Him?” Lilith asks, incredulously. “This is all just… one thing? One _person_?”

“Esbiun is a proven liar,” Felicity tells her. “We don’t know if we can trust anything he told us. But according to him, all of the ghosts are a single entity, he’s a victim of slag experimentation – or something like that, and he has another body somewhere. And he won’t go to Sanctuary. It’s all a bit of a mess.”

“Esbiun?” Brick snorts. “That’s a stupid name.”

“We know he’s getting more solid,” Lucy adds. “He can pick up and use weapons now.”

“Fantastic,” Lilith says briskly. “What do you know about his robot?”

Lucy and Felicity stare at each other in bemusement.

“Robot?” Felicity asks.

“You know, the Claptrap of doom? Moves really fast? Bursts into flames at random? Screams a lot? Is in SancTUARY RIGHT NOW?”

“Oh my goodness,” Lucy says. “Lilith, we don’t know anything about that.”

“Now she’s oozing slag,” Lilith adds, with some urgency. “Mordecai, any ideas?”

Mordecai scrubs at his goggles.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” he says gruffly.

“Lilith, we’re coming back to Sanctuary,” Brick says. “We’re gettin’ in the bus right now! Hang in there!”

“Hey, I’m the Firehawk,” Lilith says. “I can do a lot more than hanging in. But I gotta go; gotta deal with the horror Claptrap before, you know, Gaige decides she wants one for herself.”

Lilith disconnects.

“We need to pack,” Lucy says. “Flicktrap, go and get your sack of nautical paraphernalia.”

“I’ll move your belongings to the bus,” Agthri tells her.

“Good!” Brick says. “I’ll go… and…”

Mordecai stares down at Brick, his lip twisted in confusion.

“Sounds like…” he says, roughly, “…you…you’re talkin’ like you’re coming with us.”

Brick sets him down gently.

“I’m coming with you,” Brick confirms. “But don’t get your hopes up, the dogs are staying here.”

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 9_  
  
  
  
  



	9. Happiness (viii): In Transit

* * *

* * *

Maya arrives first. The horror-Claptrap coats her with slag, shocks away her shields, and throws about a dozen fireballs before she can even react.

“Holy crap,” Lilith says, to nobody in particular. “She can’t bubble in this condition.”

Lilith phasewalks towards the scene, faster than lightning, but Gaige and Deathtrap arrive first. The bigger robot matches the horror-Claptrap element-for-element. And thankfully, for once in her life, Gaige stands back.

Everyone who lives in Sanctuary knows this: if there’s a fight, you have to remember where the edges of the city are. Because there’s always an edge nearby. Intruders into Sanctuary, however, tend not to know this.

Lilith enters the battle with another phasewalk, blasting into the fray and pushing the screaming Claptrap right off the floating city. Gaige rushes forward, and the two of them watch the Claptrap flail and shriek and switch from fire to acid to slag and back as she falls the long distance back to the ground.

“Aw,” says the Sanctuary Claptrap, popping out of nowhere. “You didn’t have to do that. I just _know_ that robot and I could have been friends.”

Deathtrap makes an insulting gesture in robot, Krieg rushes out of the infirmary to patch up his girlfriend, and Lilith is left wondering what the hell is going to happen next.

* * *

* * *

“What if something goes wrong?” Mordecai asks.

“Bree can handle it,” Brick says, promptly.

“Bree is _nineteen_.”

“So, slightly older than you when you got banned from that sharpshooting competition, became a mercenary, stole a bird, and turned into a fugitive.”

“I don’t want her to have my life!”

“ _I_ think she’ll be fine,” Flicktrap interjects from the driver’s seat of the bus. “Bree can handle herself.”

Agthri doesn’t say anything, because he’s too big for the cabin and is riding on the roof with Eve. Lucy is lounging on the back seat, her lips moving silently as she meditates. Only in a meditative state can she grapple with her lag, and even then, she can only seem to change it by a second or so on any given day. It’s achingly slow progress, but still, meditating calms her down.

She immediately becomes _un-_ calm when her echo mirror starts ringing.

“It’s gotta be Lilith,” Brick says, urgently.

“She okay?” Mordecai asks, as if Lucy can somehow see the future and the impending conversation that it holds.

Lucy checks her caller idea and swears quietly. _Not_ Lilith. She answers with a wince.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” Gaige says, brightly. “This is the-angel-currently-known-as-Lucy, right? I have _so_ many questions. Were you the one who had Tannis destroy my quick-change station? How did you come back from the dead? How did you get the comms up and running in the Slablands? That’s supposed to be impossible! Also, why does the ghost always look like you?”

Gaige pauses to take a breath. Lucy stares helplessly at Wormhole, who is snuggled under Talon with about twenty-six other pigeons. She tries to answer.

“Er, yes, yes, I don’t know, we built a device to jam the Sleet jammer, and because he’s a shapeshifter who is also kind of a dick.”

“Nice,” Gaige says, sounding impressed for a moment. Then she turns irritable. “You owe me a new quick-change station.”

“Noted. Is everyone okay? We heard you were attacked by a doom Claptrap.”

“I _know_ ,” Gaige enthuses, bouncing right back to impressed. “An elemental Claptrap, of all things. I _have_ to have it. Him. Her. Them. Whatever the pronouns, I have a mighty need.”

The line crackles oddly for a moment and then makes an unpleasant squelching noise, and suddenly someone else is in the call.

“Sweet, I hacked into your call!” Esbiun says. “Didn’t know I could do that. Hey, Lucy.”

“What the?” Gaige says, stunned momentarily into silence. “Is… is that the ghost?”

“ _Esbiun_ ,” Lucy says furiously, and suddenly Brick and Mordecai are right next to her.

“Alright, don’t get all yell-y,” Esbiun admonishes. “I’m just dropping by to say: _she_. Breaktrap is a _she_. Do you like the name? I called her ‘Breaktrap’ because she’s gonna break your entire little city of Sanctuary.”

“We got the JamSquared built, even without your help,” Lucy snaps.

“I made a Claptrap all by myself!” Esbiun counters. “And she’s great. Come here, Breaktrap. Sit. Stay. Roll over. Good girl.”

“Ha! Breaktrap didn’t even hurt anyone during last night’s rampage,” Gaige announces. “She fell off the edge. Like a moron.”

“Aaand we’re disconnecting this call now,” Brick says, reaching for the button on Lucy’s headset. “Talk to you later, Gaige.”

* * *

* * *

  
Night falls. Lilith calls back and finds out Brick is travelling back to Sanctuary with them. Lilith and Brick spend another ten minutes hollering each other’s names over the echo system. Claptrap calls Lucy, and says ‘ _I heard you were travelling with another Claptrap. That’s great! Please ask them if they want to be my girl and/or boyfriend and be sure to mention I’m a big-time Vault Hunter’_. Lucy waits exactly zero seconds before replying ‘ _I talked to her and she’s not interested’_.

Marcus – as in The Gunbringer, The Guy Who Owns All the Gun and Ammo Vending Machines on Elpis – calls to inform them that they stole his bus, and that he’ll be charging them rent, interest, a deposit, and any damages.

“He seems nice,” Felicity says airily, and Brick laughs.

A lady with flowers in her hair calls to congratulate them on building the JamSquared. Zed the Magic Psycho calls to ask if they have any spare tonsils. Once informed that they do not, he pauses for an awkwardly long moment and then says ‘ _do ya want any?_ ’. A women called Moxxi hits on Felicity eight times in three words, then says ‘ _you’d better bring him back with you, sugar. I’m not having Lili--… I mean, I’m not having this town face any more disappointment’_.

Night falls. Felicity squeezes into the back seat with the boys to watch another episode of _Sideways Cloister_. Lilith is talking to Talon – who she refers to as her nephew – through Mordecai’s headset. Esbiun doesn’t call back at all.

Felicity hasn’t even been to Sanctuary yet, but she’s starting to think of it as home.

* * *

* * *

That night, they wait for Breaktrap to come back. Lilith isn’t naïve enough to think she’ll be defeated again by a simple push over the edge. Maya, Gaige, Krieg, Athena, and Salvador are all in position. So is Lilith, but she’s being flanked by Moxxi, who must be feeling especially annoying today.

“My Scooter was creating an omni-elemental-resistant workshop,” Moxxi says, touching her fingers to her lower lip, “back in Fyrestone. I’m sure I can make a vehicle with enough power to resist Breaktrap for a few hours. If Karima would make me a shield—”

“Moxxi, I love you—”

“That’swhatshesaid.”

“Ssh, she’s still talking. I love you, but I’ve got this under control. We’ve got Krieg _and_ Athena helping out, and Karima’s inventions at our disposal. This is pretty much overkill for a Claptrap as it is.”

“Right,” Moxxi says, pouting. “Well, I’m going to start working on it anyway. Just in case.”

Lilith waves goodbye, and a few seconds later Gaige’s voice crackles to life in her headset.

“She’s heeeeere. Let’s break this Breaktrap!”

The fight… does not go particularly well. Salvador fills the air with lead; Breaktrap oozes so much acid that the bullets seem to dissolve before they hit her. Maya phaselocks; Breaktrap promptly breaks free. Or maybe she was never trapped at all.

“My powers don’t work on her,” Maya yells to the others, grabbing a grenade from her utility belt. “I’m switching tactics!”

Breaktrap weathers the grenades with ease, and dodges Krieg as if he’s not a seven-foot tower of meat wielding a buzz saw and psycho powers. Deathtrap fills the sky with lightning, but it’s difficult to say if Breaktrap even notices.

And then the two robots are locked in melee battle.

This seems to put Breaktrap – whose fighting style seems to be that of a fast but very angry bulldozer – at something of a disadvantage. She cannot turn as quickly as Deathtrap, and he manages to land a few blows on her without taking much damage himself. Breaktrap seems to notice this after a few moments, and switches her elemental attack to slag, then back to acid.

“Fuck,” says Gaige.

“Right,” says Lilith, and she phasewalks into battle and punches Breaktrap right below the eyes.

For a moment, Breaktrap just looks at Lilith. She’s an unimpressive sight, even for a Claptrap. Her chassis is reddish-brown in colour, because whatever paint job was once there had long rusted away. A big piece of metal has been peeled out of her head, and beneath it multiple tiny lights are visible. The lights are the same slime-green colour as her singular main eye, and so give the appearance of being smaller eyes. If it weren’t for her elemental powers, she’d look ready for the junk pile.

But there’s something else, too. An inexplicable, undefinable haughtiness to the way Breaktrap carries herself. Lilith has seen it in Moxxi, in Aurelia, in Fiona. In Gaige, although not recently. Breaktrap thinks she’s goddamned royalty, and the world owes her a living.

Lilith punches again, three times as hard, and Breaktrap flees.

* * *

* * *

Lucy starts making her way onto the roof, only to find Flicktrap and Eve are already chatting up there. She ducks her head, and tries to listen to what they’re saying.

_Answers, please, I need answers._

“I need to know why,” Flicktrap says. “Lucy is a dear friend of mine, and you’re not exactly one for moral boundaries. Or morals.”

Eve gestures towards a couple of skags, which are currently running alongside the bus, pursued by Agthri. The loader waves at them and keeps jogging.

“You know the difference between humans and skags?” Eve asks Flicktrap.

“I know this one,” Flicktrap says, snapping her claws. “It’s the direction of the mouth opening, isn’t it?”

“Skags eat their own young. Humans are supposed to be better than that.”

“That’s it? That’s your entire moral philosophy.”

Lucy peeks up to see Eve holding a finger in the air.

“You eat someone else, fine. Someone else’s kid, fine. But your own kid? Not fine.”

“You’re horrible.”

Lucy closes the hatch, and goes back inside the bus. The last thing she needs is nonsense banter about skags. She needs information, or at least a clear head. There have been so many hints of new things – new _magics_ – over the past few days, and Lucy needs to know: _will anything stop her from using the Vault?_

It is the only, and most important question.

* * *

* * *

“Hallo,” Pickle says cheerfully. “I see you got the comms up and working again all right.”

“We certainly did,” Felicity replies. “In no small part thanks to you.”

“‘Appy to be of service. Also ‘appy you’re alive at all.”

“Right back at you.”

“Actually, I’d love to know a little more about your friend, the Guardian Angel,” Pickle admits. “I’ve heard rumours about her, but I’ve never heard of anyone who has met her in person. What’s she like?”

“Er,” Felicity says, taken aback. “She’s… nice? Hates her father. Likes pigeons. Her handwritten ‘S’s look like little fives. She makes friends a little too easily. Looks dashing in a captain’s hat. What sort of information are you looking for?”

“Does she really have a brain the size of a…” Pickle’s voice suddenly turns into a mess of dialtone and button beeps. “Blue, get off the console! I’m trying to talk to someone.”

The videocall doesn’t have a very big screen size, but Felicity can just make out a cat-sized shape gracefully leaping to the ground behind Pickle.

“Does she _really_ have a brain the size of a planet?” Pickle asks, picking up where he left off. “I heard she’s a genius, who knows all the brass-tacks-facts on _everything_.”

“Not anymore, thank goodness,” Felicity tells him. “Now that her father – her Peter-Pan-old-man, in your language – isn’t using her as a giant, poison-powered encyclopedia, she’s just a smart girl with some technical knowledge.”

“Would she remember any of the stuff she knew before? Like, as a purely hypothetical example say, would she remember the final moments of theoretical orphan’s parents? If said parents were brave, or… or scared?”

Felicity has no idea how to respond to that. Awkward silence ensues, interrupted by another keyboard-stroll from Blue. The audio at Pickle’s end devolves into the sound of someone repeatedly mashing the ‘I’ key. Pickle himself, magpie mask propped up on his head like a hat, flails irritably at the… creature.

Because Felicity gets a clear look at Blue, and Blue is _not_ a cat. Blue is cat-sized, and cat-shaped, and appears, at present, to be acting like a feline. But Blue is also made out of cerulean-coloured outlines that hover in the air like a stable projection. A hologram of a cat. Or something.

“Meow,” says Blue, in a voice that sounds less like a cat, and more like a human giving a moderate-effort impression of a cat.

Pickle kicks at the hologram, which flounces out of sight.

“He’s infuriatin’,” the teenager says, wrinkling his nose. “Blue and his brother just up and decided they just want to act like cats in their spare time. Blue’s the worst, though; he’s always underfoot because he doesn’t have a job, on account of not being able to spell! I don’t understand how some robots can be perfectly nice and normal like you, Felicity, and others can be so weird. Well, I can answer my own question, of course. Robots is just like people: some good, some bad, some weird.”

“Meeeeow.”

“Shut it, Blue. Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, right, the Guardian Angel.”

If Felicity were capable of breathing, she’d take a deep, rallying breath.

“Lucy isn’t going to be your personal hero,” she says. “But she means well, and I’ll believe she’ll do well. She wants to bring happiness and hope to people’s lives.”

“Sounds brill!”

“Well, in theory. I can’t say I understand her methods. For example, I’m somehow meant to help… bring… happiness?”

“You definitely do,” Pickle informs her. “You make me feel right glad.”

“Well, maybe. And then she’s got this plan – a huge, all-consuming plan – to get her siren powers back. If she succeeds, she will be able to bring hope to everyone: to you and I, to Sanctuary and the Highlands, to all of Pandora.”

It’s a nigh-impossible venture, and it makes Felicity worry for Lucy more than anything else. But before she can express her doubts to Pickle, someone new and unexpected cuts into the conversation.

“HELLO BOY AND GIRL!” a deep voice roars. “I HEARD YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE CALLED LUCY WHO WILL BRING HOPE BACK TO THE WORLD. THAT’S MOTHERF**KING BADASS! I’M GONNA GO NOW AND TELL EVERYONE I KNOW!”

The yelling man disconnects before Felicity can protest or issue any clarification.

“Excellent,” she says darkly, to no-one in particular.

* * *

* * *

Moxxi swings her legs, her fishnet stockings surprisingly undamaged by the rough concrete. Lilith used to sit out here with Mordecai and Talon. Maybe she will again, soon.

“So…how are things?” Moxxi asks.

Lilith single-handedly crushes her drink can down to the size of a coin.

“It’s going great,” she says, breezily. “Things are great. I love that we’re being attacked by an increasingly-powerful ghost and his psycho elemental robot. I’m super thrilled about the fact that my two best friends and my one best nephew are still a very dangerous days-long drive away. It’s also really relaxing that soon we’re going to have a girl in the city who everyone will either completely love or absolutely hate, and who apparently breaks technology just by existing too close to it. I adore all these new vaults with stupid treasures like ‘serenity’ and ‘earwigs’ and I am just so so grateful that Milun and the Sleets are constantly threatening our existence. And I’m _overjoyed_ that all day, every day, every single miserable second, I have to pretend I’m a competent fucking leader for the Raiders, because if I don’t everything we’ve worked so hard for will crumble in a heap.”

Lilith stops, and breathes raggedly. She is maybe a little cranky. To her credit, Moxxi doesn’t respond to Lilith’s incoherent rant. She just straightens the hem of her costume and says:

“You know, I spoke to my third ex-husband about Breaktrap.”

“Did he have anything helpfully cryptic to say?”

Moxxi smiles.

“In between trying to sell me ammunition, he said that Breaktrap has two weapons. The one we’ve seen in battle is her elemental fighting style – that’s her second-best weapon. But her best, most powerful weapon, is a kind of dead man’s switch.”

Lilith shrugs.

“So she explodes on death. Big deal. A lot of our enemies do that.”

“He said the force of it would rip your heart from your body,” Moxxi says. “Just imagine what it would do to the non-sirens around you.”

“Yikes. So, no killing Breaktrap. How do we beat her?”

“Marcus didn’t have a single idea,” Moxxi says, smiling harder. “But I do.”

* * *

* * *

The cool evening air rushes against Lucy’s face, whipping back her hair. Agthri has their head down the porthole, watching an episode of Mordecai’s trashy echonet show. Lucy is alone up here with Eve.

“Why do our rebirthmarks look identical?” she asks.

Eve raises an eyebrow. Possibly. It’s hard to tell under all that fabric.

“What did your loaders tell you?”

“What an odd question,” Lucy remarks. “I haven’t asked them. I’m asking _you_.”

Eve slings an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. Lucy leans back against her. Whatever this thing is, they’re in it together.

“You and I were both resurrected by the same object,” Eve tells her. “That’s all I know.”

“That’s all you _know_?” Lucy demands, her mind darting from one horrible possibility to the next. “What object? How was it obtained? Where is it now? How well is it protected from the likes of Esbiun?”

“They call it the Shining Star,” Eve tells her. “It was smaller than your hand. It was made by a man called Professor Nakayama—”

“I _know_ of him!”

“—the least unstable, and only functional item in his death-defying artefact inventory,” Eve continues, smoothly.

Lucy grabs her arm.

“If it was made by Nakayama, then it had one purpose and one purpose alone: to revive Jack. We have to find it and destroy it!”

Eve laughs briefly. If she recognises the urgency in Lucy’s voice, she either does not care or does not understand.

“And if the ghost gets hold of this star,” she continues in a rush, “or the Sleets, or even just the wrong Sanctuary citizen, they could—”

“Settle down, kiddo,” Eve says. “The Shining Star was strictly two-use only. It’s burnt out and useless now. Even the Sanctuary Claptrap would struggle to cause trouble with it.”

Lucy wipes a hot tears from her eye and tries to breathe.

“Understood,” she says. “Just two. You and me.”

“You and me,” Eve echoes.

“Nakayama is dead,” Lucy continues, “and the Shining Star is used up. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Not a thing.”

Eve reaches out and puts her hand between Lucy’s shoulder blades, star-to-star. And suddenly, for a split-second, Lucy isn’t on the bus any more.

_She is in an unfamiliar room, laying beneath a single, golden star. Death itself – no, the star – is trying to offer her a choice. But Lucy’s attention is drawn away, to one side where two people are arguing unintelligibly._

_One of them is Eve._

_The verbal fight grows louder and longer, and finally Lucy is able to hear a single phrase. She hears Eve speak clearly, saying the worst thing anyone has ever said about Lucy ever:_

_“I’m her father now!”_

It’s over in a flash, and Lucy is sitting on the bus roof, next to the gunner seat, as she has been all along. Feeling nauseated, she ducks out from under Eve’s hand, and leaves as quickly as she can.

* * *

* * *

“So…” Felicity says, uncertainly.

“So,” Lucy murmurs unhelpfully, her voice obscured by the hair puddling around her face. She’s laying face-down on the back seat.

“It can’t be that bad,” Felicity tells her. “I’m not letting you give up.”

“I’m _not_ giving up,” Lucy insists, snapping her body into a sitting position. “It’s just… there have been a _lot_ of things.”

“You might ask for help. I’ve been doing some research, now that we’re back on the grid.”

Lucy gives her a watery smile.

“I used to be able to do my own research,” she says quietly. Felicity ignores that, because she doesn’t know how to answer.

“It seems to me we’ve got several discrete issues. One, Esbiun’s past, and wherever in hell his powers came from. Two, Esbiun’s future, and the fact that he is evil and after the same vault as you. Three, the artefact that resurrected you. And four, the fact that you’ve been dead and have that mark on your back.”

Lucy looks impressed, and maybe a little bit relieved.

“Yes, that’s everything,” she says. “You’ve summed it all up.”

“I thought so. I’ve gotten access to the low-level Helios files, and I used those to mine information from the high-security files. Let’s discuss my findings.”

A smile dawns on Lucy’s lips.

“Let’s.”

“Right. First stop, Professor Nakayama. The records I looked up confirm he was working on something singular and irreplaceable, of incredible secrecy and importance, during Jack’s final few weeks.”

“Everything Nakayama did was about Jack, and most things were specifically about prolonging or restoring Jack’s life,” Lucy muses.

“I don’t have absolute confirmation, and there was no reference to any star – shining or otherwise – but Nakayama was very clear that this device would and could only revive two people.”

Lucy sighs.

“Nakayama would have wanted to be the other one, revived alongside Jack,” she says.

“Yes, he did mention Jack’s big strong arms once or twice in his notes,” Felicity adds.

“But who else would Jack want revived? He had a giant narcissist’s crush on himself, and no love left over for anyone else.”

“I don’t know. Nakayama’s notes also mentioned that the artefact was portable, and hinted that it was to be carried by someone other than Jack.”

Lucy chews on her lower lip.

“Weird,” she says. “I don’t know what to make of that last point. But the rest aligns with what Eve told me.”

“Exactly. Second stop, Esbiun’s past, a.k.a. the old Hyperion slag experimentation files,” Felicity plows on. “I went through everything I could find in their system.”

“Did you find Esbiun?”

“No, but… Lucy, there were hundreds of thousands of subjects,” Felicity says, despondently. “The powers they ended up producing were as unthinkable as the pain and suffering that lead there. Just _look_ at this—”

Felicity projects several of the more pertinent files onto her screen.

“Subject #803,” she says. “The closest I could find to anything resembling resurrection. Two deceased scythids were combined, and the combination was successfully brought to life.”

Lucy squints at the page from a safe distance away.

“It says here the final form was gigantic, much bigger than either scythid had been in life,” she says. “Also, it had an inexplicable and ravenous hunger for metal.”

“I suppose that’s what slag experimentation does to you.”

“I suppose. It also says that the final form, Blither, was confirmed to be ‘neither Bleeder nor Slither, mentally’. Do you think that’s what happened to Agwun and Agtu? Are they parts of Agthri? Or are they technically both dead, now that Agthri’s here?”

“I think Agthri was a long-thought-out choice made by consenting robots, and Blither was not,” Felicity says, firmly. “Here is a sample of the human files. The powers that humans received were usually related to healing, manifestation of single low-level weapons, or elemental in nature. But there are some exceptions.”

“Subject #1905,” Lucy says. “A 34 year old woman who, after slag experimentation, gained the ability to possess and control the minds and bodies of up to 25 other people. Incredible. But why are you showing me this?”

“My point is that Esbiun could well have been telling the truth about being an experimentation subject. And if he is, his powers could be incredible.”

Lucy drops her head back against the seat.

“Great.”

“It’s better to have as much information as possible, isn’t it?” Felicity reasons. “Even if the information is bad news.”

The bus jerks, and then slams to a halt. From the roof, Eve yells that they’ve got company, already firing. Felicity groans and relinquishes the conversation to whatever newfound horror waits outside.

* * *

* * *

This time, Lilith goes with Deathtrap to meet Breaktrap head-on.

_Melee. Melee is the only thing that’s worked so far. We smack her hard, and then get out of range. Rinse and repeat._

Breaktrap arrives and rushes at them, shrieking. The little robot is about as stealthy as Brick in a bar brawl.

Deathtrap uses his superior agility and twirls out of her way, then rounds in behind her just as quickly. His first blow connects with her back. She dodges his second blow. And his third. From somewhere in the shadowy bowels of the city, Tannis yells _‘_ robot fight!’ and cheers.

Breaktrap spews slag and then acid. Deathtrap hits her again. And then he misses. And misses again. And again. Lilith exits phasewalk right next to Breaktrap, making the air glitter with explosives and fire. Lilith punches and misses, as the rust-addled assailant backs nimbly away.

“She’s gotten better at this,” Lilith realises, quietly.

Breaktrap moves slowly towards the city centre, eying them carefully. Lilith avoids a torrent of spat slag and enters phasewalk. Breaktrap zooms away. They’re matched speed-for-speed as Lilith chases her through the gritty Sanctuary streets. Windows close and shutter as they pass.

But phasewalk is transient, and whatever powers Breaktrap has are not. Eventually Lilith is left behind. And then Breaktrap turns on a dime, and hits her – with slag, then fire, then acid – so rapidly that Lilith doesn’t have time to respond.

Lilith’s cursewords are drowned out by a new noise, the resounding roar of a very very expensive motor. A runner pulls up, as if out of nowhere, fitted with every latest gadget and souped up with every useless vehicle accessory. And on the front of it is a mechanical arm – resembling a miniature crane – with what looks like an enormous ice-cream scoop on the end.

“What the—“

The runner drives straight at them, swerving to avoid Lilith at the last second, and Lilith can finally see that the driver is Moxxi.

The scoop swings around and touches Breaktrap, and before the robot can react, a second hemisphere appears, trapping her inside. Moxxi presses firmly on the accelerator. Rockets fire out of the car as it drives right off the edge of the floating city.

“I’ll call you,” Moxxi yells, as she drops out of sight to the ground far below.

* * *

* * *

The bus shudders and groans, as if under pressure. Through the windows, Lucy sees grotesque insectoid legs wrap around the bus on either side. As they run for the door, a giant pincer pierces downward through roof. Flicktrap doesn’t get out of the way in time, and the point rips through the top of her chassis.

“I’m fine,” the little robot says reassuringly. “No internal damage. As long as I don’t get any moisture, dust or sand through the hole, I’ll have no problems at all.”

“That doesn’t sound like ‘fine’ to me,” Lucy says, through gritted teeth.

They leap from the bus and Lucy almost slips. The sandy ground is drenched with something that looks like blood, and smells much worse. The air is thick with dust. The others are nearby, already firing at the giant insect that has landed on their bus.

“Is that a tork?” Flicktrap demands. “I hate torks.”

“No,” Eve replies. “The good news is, I can put damage on it. The bad news is, I can put damage on it. Which means its dead. Or undead.”

“Seems pretty alive to me,” Brick rumbles. He’s holding a rocket launcher in his hand like a pistol.

“It’s eating the bus,” Agthri says, unnecessarily.

“It’s a scythid,” Mordecai tells them. “But I’ve never seen one this big before.”

Lucy looks at Flicktrap.

“It’s Blither,” she says tiredly.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 10_   
  
  
  
  



	10. Happiness (ix): Press Melee Button To Perform Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _Warning: this chapter has graphic descriptions of violence, i.e. a relatively decent character enacts some fairly grisly stuff on another character._   
>    
>  _Also: Gaige/Angel time + kinda diverging from canon siren lore._   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

Several hours later, they pull up to the town of Overlook in the stripped, skeletonised, barely-functioning bus, exhausted and sore and covered in scythid innards. A woman with flowers in her hair is waiting to meet them.

“Hello, Angel,” the woman says, in a voice that is neither cold nor warm. And then, much more brightly, she adds. “Hi Mordecai. Hi Brick. It’s good to have you home.”

“Hey Karima,” Brick says. “It’s good to be back.”

Karima looks at Agthri and Eve with suspicious scrutiny.

“I’m with Lucy,” Agthri burbles. “Angel is called Lucy now, by the way.”

“It’s nice that she can reinvent herself,” Karima says smoothly. “We’re still trying to reinvent our town after the Vault Hunter competition she convinced us to host.”

Felicity gently lies down on the grass. She is experiencing a general dulling of the senses, as well as pain. Being injured is the worst.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says. “As I told you in the aftermath, I had no choice.”

“Freedom was one c-casualty of the Hyperion’s greed,” Karima acknowledges. “My husband was another.” She turns to Eve. “Who is this?”

“I was just leaving,” Eve says, acidly. And without another word, she walks off into the green wilderness of the highlands.

“Huh,” Karima says. Talon chirps at her, and she hands him one of her flowers, which he happily shreds to ribbons. “The three of you can go up to Sanctuary straight away. The bot will need to stay down here until I’ve talked to Lilith.”

At least, that’s what Felicity thinks she said. Everything is starting to sound pretty blurry and look kind of cacophonous.

“Right,” Lucy says. “But there’s also… Flicktrap? Flicktrap! What are you doing?”

“My head is full of sand,” Felicity moans.

Karima looks at her for the first time.

“You have a Claptrap?” she asks.

“Yes! She’s very important to me!” Lucy says.

“She’s our friend,” Brick adds.

“You have a not-terrible Claptrap?” Karima asks, voice raised.

“I need a technician,” Felicity says, quietly. “Take me to the girl who makes robots. She might be able to help.”

“We can do better than that,” Mordecai says.

The next few minutes are a haze of neon lights, swirling buildings, and unfamiliar faces, until Brick gently sets Felicity down in a room that appears to be a torture chamber.

“What can I get for ya?” asks a man with a mask, who is almost definitely Dr Zed, the psycho who makes the magic vending machines.

“I need to go into the shop for repairs,” Felicity says weakly.

“Can you heal her?” Lucy asks Zed, which sounds like nonsense to Felicity’s theoretical ears.

“Sure,” Zed says. “I might not have a ‘med school degree’, but when—”

“Great,” Brick says. He sets Felicity down on a steel table and picks up Lucy under one arm. “We gotta go to headquarters.”

Lucy doesn’t seem happy about this new development.

“Wait,” she says. “Can’t we just—”

“We gotta go now,” Brick says.

There’s a flurry of movement and then Felicity is alone in a strange room with a strange psycho.

“You know,” she says giddily. “I think the Claptrap spanners went out of stock years ago. I’m not sure you’ll have the tools to help me.”

Zed gives no indication he understands her. He holds one gloved hand an inch above Felicity’s eye, and a strange buzzing noise fills her circuits. For a moment, Felicity feels nothing but awkwardness. And then, impossibly, Felicity starts to recover.

She feels the sand particles shrink inside her chassis; each tiny grain imploding like reversed popcorn before vanishing completely. She feels a not-unpleasant itch as the metal on top of her head _regrows_ and flattens into place. She feels her wound start to shrivel and fade, leaving only good health in its wake. She feels the pain banished and the fog lifted from her mind. And suddenly, Felicity is well.

“Oh my,” she says, gingerly getting up. “You’re quite the magician, aren’t you? How did you… with _metal_ …?”

Zed shrugs.

“Oh, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he informs her airily. “It just happens.”

“Well, thank you for your help. I’m right as rain. And now that I’m waterproof again, I’m ready for rain, too. Could you please point me in the direction of headquarters, so that I can join my friends?”

Before the good doctor can reply, a bulky figure bursts into the medical centre, breathing heavily. A second later, Felicity realises the figure is Eliza, who is carrying her brother over one shoulder and an unconscious Uggo over the other.

“Help!” Eliza says. “We were shot down over Sleet territory. They’re hurt. You have to help them. I will _kill_ you if you don’t help them.” 

* * *

* * *

Lilith and Maya sit shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for their friends to arrive. Maya keeps trying to break the silence.

“How old were you?” she asks Lilith, absently tracing the blue marks on her arm. “What age did you first start to see the tattoo?”

Lilith grits her teeth. She’s annoyed and stressed: at the world generally, and at Lucy specifically.

“I was fourteen years old,” Maya continues. “I’d been identified as a siren in my infancy, of course, courtesy of a planetary genetic testing regime. But I was fourteen when I started to _look_ like one.”

“Maya,” Lilith says, warningly.

“There was this tiny blue mark, right at the base of my thumb. I remember seeing it and feeling… tired. Just exhausted by the inevitability of it all.”

An errant flyer blows past, which does nothing for Lilith’s mood.

“I was twelve,” Lilith says, tensely. “And… it was a surprise. I thought the tattoo was a bruise until it spread. I thought – _everyone_ thought – I was a normal little girl. Until I suddenly started turning invisible and setting things on fire.”

“That’s rough,” Maya says. “I’m sorry it had to happen that way.”

Lilith shrugs. She wouldn’t trade her powers for the world now.

Well. There’s very little in the world she would trade for her powers, anyway.

“It must have been difficult for Angel, too,” Maya continues. “Imagine going through all of that, but with _him_.”

“Her name is Lucy,” Lilith snaps. “And right now, I don’t feel sorry for her at all.”

* * *

* * *

When they arrive at the Crimson Raiders headquarters, two red-haired women are waiting for them. Brick sets Lucy down in front of the shorter one.

“Commander Lilith,” Lucy says nervously. “Good to see you again.”

Lilith looks past her, red lips twisted into a wry grin.

“Brick,” Lilith says, at a normal volume.

“Lilith,” Brick replies, happily.

“Brick!”

“Lilith!”

And then they sort of launch themselves at each other, and embrace like long-lost siblings.

_Siblings_. Lucy hopes that Flicktrap is doing okay.

“Eughh,” Mordecai says petulantly. “Enough hugging. I’m standing right here!”

This complaint, naturally, leads to Lilith and Brick drawing Mordecai into the embrace. Lilith laughs, brightly. Lucy watches the three of them and her heart swells. Her first Vault Hunters. They meant the world to her. They still do.

Meanwhile, the other occupant of the room is staring at _her_. Lucy reluctantly turns her gaze away from the trio, and stares back. It isn’t easy.

“Hi,” says Gaige.

“Hello,” Lucy replies.

A long moment stretches out between them. Lilith’s laughter fades in the background. Gaige looks slightly older than Lucy remembers: more tanned and muscular, taller and somehow also _angrier_. Her hair is drawn into four bunches across her head. Her fashion style might be the same, but it’s hard to tell: her clothes are largely obscured by the dozens of tools and robot parts that are strapped to her body.

Lucy feels her face heat up.

“So… yeah… hi,” Gaige says, her voice unnecessarily high.

“Hi,” Lucy responds stupidly, at a loss for words.

“Hi.”

“Uh… hi.”

“So…”

In person and up close, Gaige is a lot prettier than she has any right to be. This dialogue is a disaster.

“So…hi?”

“Hi.”

_Ask her about the robot_ , Lucy’s one functioning brain cell urges.

“Soo, how is Teathdrap?”

_Never mind_ , the brain cell says. _Just jump off the balcony screaming. It’s the only way to end this._

“He’s grape!” Gaige replies, and then winces. “He’s, uh…”

And then Lilith – sweet, perfect, beautiful Lilith – comes to the rescue.

“I hate to break up this scintillating conversation,” she tells them. “But I need to speak with Lucy. _Now_.”

* * *

* * *

Things happen very quickly. A second psycho appears from behind some curtains. He is wearing a psycho’s mask, a very short scrub top, and a name tag that reads ‘Krieg’. He takes Uggo’s motionless body from Eliza, while chanting:

“FIX THE FLESH FIX THE FLESH!”

“Ah,” Felicity says uncertainly, “does that man work here?”

“’Course,” Zed replies succinctly. He pushes Pickle’s mask aside. “Aw, fer… he’s just a kid.”

“He’s my kid brother,” Eliza says, waving an expensive-looking gun in Zed’s general direction.

“I’m grown,” Pickle says, weakly. “Just got a minor gouge on me loaf-of-bread-head.”

Zed holds out one hand, and Pickle’s wound promptly begins to shrink. Felicity marvels as the nasty injury is replaced with normal, undamaged flesh and blood.

“I don’t imagine I would ever get tired of watching that,” she murmurs. “Instant healing!”

And then, behind her, someone groans. And Felicity freezes, her world shrieks to a halt, and her mind becomes nothing but a single, blaring exclamation point.

Because she _knows_ that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere. And all the fragile pieces of safety – of goodness, of joy, of hope – that she’s found in this horrible world come crashing down to shatter upon the floor.

Felicity turns slowly, inevitably, and faces the source of the groan. The man currently laying on a gurney next to the psycho-probably-called-Krieg. The man wearing a magpie mask pushed to the side of his head and a bracer on one arm. The same man that Eliza had carried in moments ago, whom Eliza continues to refer to as ‘ _our friend, Uggo_ ’.

But this man is not Eliza’s friend. He is not anyone’s friend. Whatever happened to the real Uggo, when the change was made, if the real Uggo ever existed… these are important questions that need to be answered, but not right now.

Now is the time for decisive action. Decisive murder action.

“Kill him,” Felicity tells Krieg.

Krieg half-shrugs one gigantic shoulder, and continues healing the gash across the man’s stomach. Felicity draws both her cutlasses.

“Look at his _face_ ,” she says. “Don’t you recognise him? That’s Handsome Jack. We _need_ to kill him.”

* * *

* * *

Gaige flees the room. Lilith puts her hand on Lucy’s shoulder and steers her out on to the balcony.

“What the hell did you do?” she asks sharply, as they walk.

Lucy appears finds her tongue once more.

“To Gaige? Nothing. The only other time I met her was when—”

“To _Sanctuary_ ,” Lilith interrupts. “What did you do to Sanctuary?”

Lilith gestures at the city. At the new statue in the middle of the town: cheap stone carved into the form of a young woman, with long hair, and angel wings. At the nearby graffiti, where someone has inexpertly scrawled the words _Cult of the Angl_ in waist-high lettering. And at the blue-coloured fliers that paper the billboards and walls – almost as numerous as the Crimson Raider recruitment posters – each depicting a badly-drawn image of the same winged woman, and the words ‘ _SHE WILL BRING HOPE BACK TO PANDORA’_.

“Oh no,” Lucy says softly.

* * *

* * *

“Yes, that _is_ my plan,” Lucy admits, wilting under Lilith’s glare. “I want to open the vault, restore my powers, and try to erase some of the despair Jack brought to this planet.”

“And you decided to announce that to everyone?” Lilith demands. “Dammit, you _know_ Pandorans will form a cult at the drop of a helmet. _Especially_ where sirens are concerned.”

Lucy does know that, which was why she had been keeping her intentions a closely-guarded secret. _How did everyone find out_?

“I didn’t,” she says, quietly. “I’d only told a few people. Brick and Mordecai, whom we both trust. Felicity, Eve, and Agthri, whom _I_ trust. And Tannis.”

Lilith throws her hands in the air exasperatedly.

“Well, in that case, I guess the culprit must be Talon,” she says, with biting sarcasm.

“How secure are the echowaves?” Lucy asks, remembering the way Esbiun interrupted her conversation on the bus.

Lilith puts both hands on her temples.

“About as secure as they were when you last had your powers,” she says. “But you don’t really expect me to believe that—”

With near-magical punctuality, Lilith’s echo device hums into action.

“HIYA LILITH, YOU FOUND OUR GIRL OF THE MOTHERF**KING HOUR!” Mr Torgue shouts, without waiting for a greeting. “TELL HER I AM PUMPED TO INDIRECTLY MEET HER BADASS SELF.” 

Mr Torgue’s profile picture has changed. He is facing a slightly different direction, high-fiving a robot arm that almost definitely belongs to Hammerlock, and wearing a shirt – an actual, pec-covering, ab-concealing t-shirt – adorned with the words _Cult of the Angl_. And also a lot of sequins.

“Not now, Torgue,” Lilith tells him, exasperatedly. “I’m busy at the mom—”

“How did _you_ hear about my plans?” Lucy asks loudly, interrupting the older siren. “They were private. An off-worlder like yourself shouldn’t know. Nobody should know.”

“WELL, I WAS TRYING TO CALL MY BESTIE HAMMERLOCK, WHEN THE BULLSH*T ECHO SYSTEM CONNECTED ME TO SOMEONE ELSE’S PRIVATE CONVERSATION ABOUT YOUR SECRET PLANS FOR… AW F*CK, MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE ANNOUNCED THEM TO EVERYONE. I JUST GOT SO EXCITED. HOPE IS MY SECOND FAVOURITE THING AFTER EXPLOSIONS.”

* * *

* * *

Eliza flies across the room, her face twisted with the same panic that Felicity feels. She grabs one of Felicity’s robot wrists, and the two of them tussle in the tiny space between Krieg and the wall.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Felicity tells her. “But your friend isn’t what he seems. Jack is alive, in this room, right now, and we need to end him. You must remember what he did to Pandora, and to Elpis.”

“You’re bloody delusional,” Eliza says. “I don’t care about your Jack-so-and-so. If Uggo gets so much as a scratch I’m going to shut you down. He was the only one who—”

“THAT IS NOT UGGO,” Felicity yells, struggling desperately. “THAT IS HANDSOME JACK! Think about it for a moment. A man who hides his face and his voice is pretty easy to impersonate. You have to trust me on this!”

“I don’t!” Eliza snarls. “I’m going to kick your glass-and-bottle-arse.”

_This girl is beyond reason,_ Felicity thinks. _She’ll get us all killed._

Luckily, Felicity doesn’t _need_ to convince Eliza: she only needs to convince Krieg. The psycho watches them for a moment with narrowed eyes, then he turns back to his patient.

“Kill him,” Felicity begs. “You were a Vault Hunter. You must recognise him. You know what needs to be done.”

Krieg hovers one hand over the man’s unconscious face (Jack. Jack’s face. Felicity can’t bring herself to even think that name more often than she needs to. Not now that he’s alive and _here_ and everything is ruined), fingers extended like claws. Then, with a sudden, violent gesture Krieg rams downward, tearing through the fragile flesh and muscle of Jack’s visage (the visage of Jack, who is currently posing as Uggo. Uggo-Jack’s visage. Heck, now Felicity can’t _stop_ thinking that name).

“Oh no,” Felicity says, dismayed.

“Oh my god,” says Eliza. She shoves Felicity away, and launches herself at Krieg. Felicity recovers quickly thanks to her sturdy, stair-climbing wheel, and thrusts a cutlass at Eliza’s throat.

“I can’t let you do that!” she says, her voice distorted with stress.

“STRIP THE FLESH!” Krieg announces, unhelpfully. He twists his fingers until Uggo-Jack’s nose cracks beneath them. Then he draws back his hand, ripping an entire cheek muscle from its root.

Eliza screams.

“Don’t mutilate him!” Felicity snaps. “Just kill him.”

“Red!” Eliza shouts. “Red, get out here, I need you. Oh my god. RED!!”

The bracer lights up brightly for a moment, then goes completely dark. Beside it, a cherry-red image of a lion-sized housecat shimmers into existence.

“Good kitty?” Felicity ventures. The cat-thing hisses and pounces on her, and she quickly learns there is some real force behind what seemed to be nothing more than a hologram. Red pins Felicity against the wall, leaving Eliza free to attack Krieg.

Krieg, on the other hand, has carefully removed the front half of Uggo-Jack’s skull, which he drops on top of a grisly pile of facial features.

“Faster, Krieg!” Felicity says loudly. “You’re a vault hunter, aren’t you? You’ve killed him once before, just KILL HIM AGAIN!”

Eliza grabs Krieg’s non-mutilating arm and presses the gun to his head.

“If he dies,” she says, quietly, “I will end you. You hear me? I will find you and I will murder you. You will never have a moment’s peace, you…”

She trails off as she looks at the barely-breathing mess that is Uggo-Jack. Her mouth falls open in horror and she throws herself between Krieg and the gurney.

“Stop!” Eliza says. “You’re killing him. I can see his brain. Oh my god. What have you done?”

Eliza grabs Uggo-Jack’s unresponsive body and slides off the table with him. As they fall, Krieg makes one more malpractice-addled grab at the throat, relieving Uggo-Jack of his trachea and holding the organ in the air like a grotesque prize.

For a moment, there is absolute silence.

“There was no need for that,” Felicity finds herself telling Krieg. “A gun to the head would have been just as effective, and much more ethical.”

Eliza kneels over the body of her so-called friend. The front of her shirt is sticky with Uggo-Jack’s blood, and so is the floor around them. Red lets Felicity go, and pads over to lick at Eliza’s tears.

“How am I going to explain it to the digis?” Eliza asks. “I don’t think they really know what death _is_.”

“He wasn’t who you think he was,” Felicity says, gently.

“Shut up,” Eliza tells her. “He was the only one who came back for us, when all the other Vault Hunters had left. He was like an older brother to us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Felicity doesn’t know what to say or do any more. Pickle is slowly making his way over to their alcove, supported by Zed. Krieg is hovering in the background, strangely holding out one hand, as if he somehow intends to perform magic.

“Oh dear,” Pickle says. “Oh! He’s still breathing. Cor, that’s a relief.”

“What?” Felicity asks numbly. She looks down in time to see that Uggo-Jack has somehow regrown his trachea, which is slowly being buried in newly-appearing layers of muscle and fascia.

“Krieg,” Felicity says, exhaustedly. “What are you doing now?”

Krieg shrugs one massive shoulder.

“FIX THE FLESH!” he announces.

“I thought you were killing him!”

But it’s too late. Uggo-Jack has regrown – well, everything. He has healthy-looking skin and eyes and hair and neck and he looks nothing – _nothing_ – like Jack.

* * *

* * *

Lilith gently thumps her head against the heel of her hand and ignores Lucy’s pointed stare.

“ _Good_ bye, Mr Torgue,” she says, with an air of tired finality.

“BYE! GOOD LUCK ANGEL, WE LOVE YOU. PLEASE DON’T DIE HORRIBLY WHILE YOU’RE TRYING TO—”

Lilith disconnects the call.

“All right, maybe I was too hasty,” she admits. “ _Maybe_. But—”

“You think?” Brick’s voice floats through the door. Lilith clenches her hands into fists

“I _think_ I told you two to wait downstairs,” she says irritably.

“We can hear everything from down there anyway,” Mordecai informs her, as he lets himself and Brick back into the room. “Sounds like the cult isn’t Lucy’s fault.”

“You have every right to be suspicious of me, given what’s happened,” Lucy says quietly. “I don’t blame you.”

Lilith doesn’t answer any of them. Instead, she taps her echo device a few times.

“Let’s hear from our man inside,” she says. “’Sup killer?”

“Hey, Lil,” Salvador replies from the other end.

His profile picture has been updated to reflect his cover story: an electric blue beard, and a lapel pin that reads ‘SHE WILL BRING HOPE BACK TO PANDORA’. Well, actually, the pin reads ‘SHE WILL BRING HO’, followed by a squiggle of illegibly small handwriting, because Pandorans are very good at starting craft projects, but not very good at _planning_ them.

“Any word on how the cult started?” Lilith asks.

“I heard it was some weapons bigwig asshole,” Salvador replies. “He started telling everyone Angel was gonna save Pandora. Somehow. I think.”

Lilith briefly closes her eyes.

“Yeah, that tracks,” she says, finally. “Mr Torgue strikes again.”

“Oh, he’s my favourite bigwig asshole!”

“Great.”

Mordecai leans in.

“Do you think the cultists are gonna be a problem?” he asks.

“They’re not too rabid, just regular amounts of messed up,” Salvador replies. “I convinced them that Angel needs to be left alone to work, so they won’t swarm her. I hope.”

“Thanks,” Lucy says.

“Her name is Lucy now,” Brick adds.

“Anyway, I still can’t believe you wouldn’t dye your beard with me,” Salvador continues.

“I can,” Brick says, with a fond, tiny smile.

“Okay, _enough_ whimsical banter,” Lilith orders, waving her arms. “We need to… wait, what was that?”

The ground lurches under her feet. Once, twice, three times.

“Did Sanctuary always used to do that?” Brick asks, frowning.

“What the hell is going on?” Lilith demands. Her hand flies to the chunk of eridium in her pocket. Her other, smarter hand flies to her echo device. “Gaige? What’s going on with the ship?”

“Uhhh,” Gaige says. “I’m uhh. I’m looking into it. IsLucystillthere?”

Outside, pigeons are starting to take off.

“That’s not good,” Mordecai says grimly. “Usually they won’t leave Talon’s side.”

“Where are your primary mechanics?” Lucy asks.

“Moxxi and Ellie are both away at the moment, and Janey works in another city,” Lilith tells her, in a frustrated half-shout. “Karima?”

“It’s the stabilisers,” Karima says, her calm voice filtering through Lilith’s headset. “They’ve been inactive for years, as far as I can tell, but they’ve just started going through some sort of reboot protocol.”

“Reboot?” Lucy says. “I thought this ship was one hundred percent mechanical?”

“It used to be,” Karima tells her. “We upgraded the stabilisers after the fall of Hyperion, in the hopes of avoiding, well, this.”

“I need more eridium,” Lilith says. “Just in case. Mordecai, you remember where my stashes are, right?”

Lucy gets to her feet and grabs Lilith by the arm.

“You don’t _need_ eridium,” she says. “You need to get me out of Sanctuary.”

“We’ll evacuate if it comes to that,” Lilith says, shaking her off. “I’m sorry, but you’re not more important than anyone else here.”

Lucy grabs her more tightly.

“The stabilisers are rebooting,” she says tersely. “That means they’re computerised. Computers lag when they get too close to me, _because_ they got too close to me. Move me away from the ship, and the problem will go away.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Lilith says, suddenly understanding.

* * *

* * *

The world around Lucy glitters and warps, and for a second she experiences nothing but the raw and furious energy of Lilith’s phasewalk. Patricia Tannis once said that ‘ _every siren power is profoundly mystical and intriguingly tremendous, inconceivable to we mere mortals_ ’, and she was probably correct.

And then it is over. As the scenery reforms around them, Lucy can see they have arrived at a cottage on the outskirts of Overlook. Lilith sets her down on the doorstop, and then immediately disappears into the night.

For a moment the stillness is excruciating. Lucy feels like a caged bird, given the tiniest taste of the sky before being shoved back into confinement. She misses her own powers like a phantom limb.

But there are different types of freedom, and existing in her current state is still much better than anything she had under Jack.

Lucy watches the distant floating city until the reverberations stop. Then she goes inside to investigate what is presumably her new residence.

* * *

* * *

Uggo-Jack regains consciousness and lifts his mended head, squinting around the room. Eliza thanks several deities, Pickle tries to high-five Zed and ends up nearly knocking him over, and Felicity finally, finally remembers.

_The sixth of Athena’s team of vault hunters was a clone. A HANDSOME JACK clone. Surgically altered. Cosmetically identical. But unlike Jack in all the ways that counted._

Uggo-Jack… _no, clone-Jack… no not that either… what was his real name… Tom? Jim? Tim? Yes, Timothy._ Timothy clambers into his hands and knees. He does not seem to be in any pain, despite his excruciatingly recent ordeal. He picks up a discarded syringe and throws it at the bewildered Red. Then he points at his bracer, frowning.

“You won’t be needing that anymore,” Pickle says, brightly.

“Krieg healed you,” Felicity adds. “Not just the Sleet damage, but the Hyperion damage as well.”

Timothy turns his glare towards her. He has dark red hair and a scruffy beard and freckles underneath his eyes. He looks unremarkable. He looks like nobody.

Carefully, Felicity holds out a cutlass, broad side first.

“This will explain what I mean,” she says. “You look different now. I’ll bet you sound different, too.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Eliza says coldly. “She was trying to kill you.”

Timothy stares at his reflection. Very slowly, as if in a dream, he reaches out and touches the silver surface, and then pokes his own cheek.

“I’m sorry about that. I thought you were _him_ ,” Felicity explains.

Imagine if she’d succeeded in killing him. She’d have been no better than an average bandit, murdering an innocent person at first sight.

If Timothy hears her, he doesn’t respond. He looks up at Krieg with awe.

“You fixed my face,” he declares. His voice is croaky and quiet, but normal. Overlook-able. Timothy’s hand flutters to his newly-healed throat.

“You fixed my voice,” he adds, reverently.

Krieg gives him two thumbs up.

“FLESH FIXED!” he announces proudly.

“You did fine,” Zed tells the younger healer.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” Timothy yells. He grabs Krieg around the hips, picks him up, and twirls him in the air. Then he does the same thing to Zed and Pickle, and lunges for Eliza.

“You’re not hugging me,” Eliza snaps, sticking her nose in the air. “I’ve been worried sick! I thought you were dead and it turns out you were just getting a _makeover_? You’re in so much Barney-Rubble-trouble, Uggo.”

Red’s ears prick up, and for a moment he flickers out of existence. Or, more accurately, he ceases to be a skag-sized holographic cat and instead turns into seven hovering words that read: _that is not how rhyming slang works_.

“Sis, we’ve talked about this,” Pickle says, not unkindly. “I’ve told you so many times: Uggo hasn’t had his own face in years.”

“But he _did_ have a perfectly useful face,” Eliza argues. “Who cares if it looked like Lonesome Smack, or whoever.”

“Literally everyone,” Felicity informs her. “Except you, apparently.”

“Felicity!” Timothy says, bouncing over to her. “Look look look! This is what I look like!”

“I can see that,” Felicity tells him. She’s thrilled because Timothy is happy. She’s doubly-thrilled because she managed, somehow, not to get him murdered. And she’s triple-thrilled because Jack would hate this. But she also feels… melancholy. In this moment, Felicity is acutely aware that she looks like a Claptrap unit, and nothing at all like the form she imagined for herself.

“You should get outta here,” Zed tells them, unceremoniously. “Comin’ to the city without permission ain’t allowed. Threatenin’ us healers’ll get ya dead real fast. And your gol-dern cat is eating my décor.”

He points at Blue, who is huddled in a corner, trying to lick the blood off the floor.

“But where will they go?” Felicity asks. “Their ship was shot down.”

“I can finesse us a car,” Eliza says, confidently.

“I can finesse us a car _first_ ,” Pickle counters.

Timothy taps on his forearm for a moment, out of habit, and then shakes his head.

“We’ll drive to Hollow Point. The Springs’ should help us get a new ship; Janey won’t be able to resist Pickle’s cute little face.”

“I’m adorable,” Pickle agrees.

Felicity feels her metaphorical ears prick up. She knows from Brick and Mordecai’s stories that Janey Springs is married now. And her wife is… someone significant.

“I would very much like to come with you,” Felicity says. “I’d love to see Athena again. I’d love to stab he— I mean, take a stab at meeting her again. We got off on the wrong foot last time.”

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 11_  
  
  
  
  



	11. Happiness (x): Speechless

* * *

* * *

Lilith stands on the balcony, between her two best men – her two best _friends_ – and breathes deeply.

“Five minutes,” she murmurs, to no-one in particular. “I just want five minutes with nothing happening.”

At that moment, Lilith’s echo device starts humming against the side of her head. She sighs and answers it.

“Sooo, now that Sanctuary isn’t in danger of falling out of the sky,” Gaige says, from the other end of the call. “I have some question about Lucy.”

“Not now, Gaige,” Lilith replies.

Sometimes the mechromancer irritates her. Lilith likes to think it’s because Gaige is obnoxious and over-confident. Or because of the viruses she’s accidentally released. Or because of the way she refuses to develop social skills – or any skills that aren’t related to the battlefield. But sometimes, Lilith worries that Gaige irritates her just because _Gaige isn’t Tina_.

Mordecai starts buzzing. He retrieves his echo device from a random bit of fabric and holds it out in front of him. Gaige’s bubbly voice fills the room once more.

“Hiii Mordy. Welcome back! I was wondering if—”

“I’m standing right next to Lilith,” Mordecai tells her. “And thanks, it’s good to be back. Also,” he adds, as Brick’s echo device starts loudly playing a song about mainframes, “Brick is here too.”

“DAMMIT!”

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Brick calls to Gaige, as Mordecai hangs up. “Heh. Teenagers.”

Lilith pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Five…minutes…” she pleads with the universe in general.

Talon, sensing her mood, hops onto her shoulder and starts violently chewing on her jacket. Lilith pats him, feeling slightly better. There is a faint breeze. On the street below, Daisy studies a cult flyer intensely. A pigeon burps, and immediately splits into three smaller pigeons. Marcus yells about thieves that should be filled up with bullets.

Four minutes and nineteen seconds pass, and then Lilith’s echo device springs back to life.

“Gaige,” she says, very tiredly, “I’m warning you—”

“It’s me, sugar.”

“Moxxi!” Lilith exclaims, suddenly full of energy. “You okay? Where are you?”

“I don’t wanna get too specific, but I’m out near the Badlands,” Moxxi tells her. “I’m in Scooter’s experimental workshop, the one with omni-elemental-resistant capabilities. There’s a containment room here, and wouldn’t you know it, little Breaktrap can’t seem to break her way out of it.”

“She’s still alive too?” Lilith asks, impressed. “Have you been able to get any information out of her?”

“Hey Moxxi,” Brick interjects, from over Lilith’s shoulder.

“Oh… hi Brick,” Moxxi says, sounding more surprised than pleased. She regards Brick the same way she regards Zed, with mixture of smooth amicability and delicate pettiness that end up cancelling each other out into neutrality. “Welcome home.”

Brick does not appear to notice Moxxi’s demeanour. And for that matter, neither does Mordecai.

“Thanks!” Brick replies warmly.

“I’m not in the business of torturing robots,” Moxxi continues, turning her attention, as always, back to Lilith, “but this place has a direct connection to the Sanctuary mechanic shop. We can have Claptrap interface with Breaktrap, and find out what she’s got stored on her hard drives.”

“Great,” Lilith replies. “Mordecai, Brick, please take Claptrap to Scooter’s. Tell him cooperation isn’t optional.”

“Unless…” Moxxi says, uncertainly.

“Unless what?”

“Well, with Claptrap’s intelligence levels, the process will be slow and frustrating at best. But I don’t suppose we have another robot that’s smarter than Claptrap and more verbally coherent than Deathtrap, do we?”

* * *

* * *

The little cottage is coated in dust and abandoned insect-webs. One of the previous occupants must have been a child: there are colourful magnetic letters on every surface, and simple handmade dolls in the bedroom.

“It’s a little close to the mountains,” Agthri says from the back porch. “We’ll need to watch out for stalkers and other cave-dwelling wildlife.”

Lucy pays the robot little mind, wandering around in a dream. She’s never had a home of her own before.

“Look, there are _two_ appliances in the kitchen. And here’s a couch! Oh, we could set up little beds in the windowsill, for Spot and Extra Leg and Wormhole and Fluffy. Fluffy’s been glitching a lot lately, I’ve been worried that he—”

Her monologue is interrupted by a familiar voice crackling over her headset.

“Lucy? It’s me.”

“Hello, Flicktrap,” Lucy replies cheerfully. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’ve been fully healed. Listen, I’m going to go on a road trip with the magpies, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Lucy frowns.

“What are the magpies doing here?”

“It’s a long story, but everything is fine now,” Flicktrap burbles. “So I’ll see you in... hold on, I’m receiving another call.”

For a moment, the other end of the conversation is nothing but muffled noise and the occasional burst of syncopated hold music. Agthri stares at Lucy in confusion. Lucy shrugs.

In the silence, a scrap of an earlier conversation floats into her consciousness.

_The question: ‘why do our rebirthmarks look identical?’_

_And Eve’s response: ‘what did your loaders tell you?’_

Does Agthri know? About the mark? The Shining Star? About Lucy’s resurrection?

“Turns out I’m not going anywhere at all,” Flicktrap says, her voice a welcome distraction from Lucy’s current thoughts. “Instead, I’ll be interfacing with an evil Claptrap. Wish me luck!”

* * *

* * *

“You all set?” asks Moxxi, a woman whose entire personality seems to consist of not wearing enough clothes.

“We’re connected at this end,” replies a girl with fire-engine-red hair. Then she covers her echo device and tells Felicity: “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You’re the coolest and most complex AI I’ve ever _seen_. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looks to be around Lucy’s age, but Lilith introduced her as ‘one of my vault hunters’, so she must be at least reasonably competent. Hopefully.

“All right,” Felicity says. “Connect the demon.”

The sounds of very loud screaming and quiet cursing can be heard from Moxxi’s end of the echo, and then Felicity is plunged into the mind of Breaktrap.

For a full minute, there is nothing but darkness and silence. Felicity thinks that maybe something went wrong. Maybe she’s been wiped.

And then, with a lurch, everything lights up at once. Colours and shapes swirl by at a maniacally fast pace. Hints of sounds, indecipherably brief whiffs of memories. And _emotions_. Too angry, too sad, too fast, too slow.

In all the mess and noise, there is only one single coherent recollection. And it’s an ugly one.

But more importantly than that, everything in Breaktrap’s mind is under a slime-green lockdown, inaccessible, impenetrable.

There are no words.

Literally. No words.

Felicity blows up the docking station at her end just to get _out of there_.

* * *

* * *

“So, Breaktrap’s AI brain is basically mush,” Lilith summarises. “ _And_ she’s being completely controlled by Esbiun. Is that right?”

Flicktrap gazes into the middle distance, apparently dazed.

“Flicktrap?”

“Give her a minute, geeze,” Gaige says, stepping forward so that she’s positioned between Lilith and the little robot. “She just went through something very traumatic.”

Deathtrap gurgles sympathetically. Lilith rolls her eyes.

“We _need_ this information,” she reminds them.

“Yes,” Flicktrap says distantly. And then, more firmly. “ _Yes_. That’s right. She’s not a willing ally of Esbiun, but he’s got her mind on lockdown.”

“Yikes.”

“Sucks for her,” Brick agrees.

“However, there might a way to remove Esbiun’s control. Breaktrap seemed to have a sort of administrator password.”

“As password?” Moxxi cuts in, keenly. “That’s easy. I can rustle up a brute force device to systematically try all possible character combinations. It should only take a few weeks to find the right combo. You didn’t happen to see how long her password was, did you, sugar?”

“No, and that’s going to be the least of your problems,” Flicktrap says quietly. “It looks like Breaktrap has had her language databases completely wiped. She doesn’t speak a word of, well, anything. Not even binary.”

“Oh,” Moxxi says.

“That’s a pretty clever move for a stupid ghost,” Brick adds.

“Yeah,” Lilith agrees. “Can’t input a password if there’s nothing to enter it _with_.”

“Mordecai?” Moxxi asks, cautiously. “Would any of your contacts have an AI language base program?”

“Not for a Claptrap,” Mordecai says grimly.

“He’s right,” Flicktrap agrees. “Parts for this product line are in such short supply as to be unobtainable.”

“And Claptrap units require a model-specific language input system,” Gaige points out. “With any incompatible program, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance of melting the installation hardware, and a remaining one percent chance of exploding the entire robot. And you _can_ not destroy the first ever elemental Claptrap before I’ve even gotten a chance to take a look at her. I forbid it!”

Lilith takes a deep breath through her nose.

“There must be something we can do,” she says.

“There _is_ something,” Moxxi says, her voice un-husky with triumph. “She can learn language the old-fashioned way: by watching Pandoran children’s cartoons all day, every day. It worked for my kids, so it should work for her.”

Lilith blinks. Brick frowns, and Gaige shakes her head. Mordecai probably makes some kind of expression too.

“I’m not quite sure that will work…” Flicktrap begins, trailing off uncertainly.

“But it’s the best we’ve got,” Lilith says. “Good luck, Moxxi.”

“Thanks, sugar,” Moxxi simpers. “Oh, one more thing. Flicktrap, you said Breaktrap had a single intact memory?”

“Oh. Yes. That.”

Flicktrap twirls her right grip-claw around her left, faltering briefly.

“It’s sort of horrible,” she cautions.

“We still need to hear it,” Lilith reminds her.

“Yeah, it could be important,” Mordecai says.

“Well, it’s a memory of a baby. A human baby in its crib, looking out a giant window. Through the window, the baby sees both of its parents. And then the parents are murdered by bandits. Well, the assailants just look like scribble-figures, but I’m pretty sure they’re bandits. And the baby is left traumatised and scared, with nobody to care for it. And that’s the whole scene.”

“Wow,” Lilith says, wrinkling her nose.

“You are even worse at telling stories than Lucy,” Brick informs Flicktrap, folding his massive arms across his gigantic chest.

* * *

* * *

Lucy tries to start the conversation gently.

“I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I?”

Lucy _fails_ to start the conversation gently. She winces. For a second, Agthri looks bewildered, but then he nods.

“How did it happen?”

Agthri shuffles as close as is safe, and crouches down.

“We – that is, Agwun and Agtu – tried _everything_ to bring you back,” the robot says. “We were Angelic Guardians, after all. We were made to protect you. But in the end, all we could do was preserve your lifeless body.”

Lucy studiously avoids that mental image.

“Then how did I—”

“One day, Eve showed up. She said she was looking for Angel. She seemed dangerous, so we showed her your remains. We thought the evidence of your demise would be enough to make her leave.”

“And?”

“Eve said she could heal you,” Agthri continues, with a four-shouldered shrug. “We let her in – we were willing to try anything at that point – and she took something out of her pocket and put it against your back. Right between your shoulder blades. After that, she went into a trance for a few minutes. And then you were alive again.”

Lucy shakes her head.

“Right between my… yes, that’s right.”

With Agthri’s words, she suddenly remembers the sensation, six metal points digging into her fragile skin, and it dredges up a memory buried so deeply that the inertia of unearthing it knocks her off her feet.

_Lucy lays dying on pyre… no! Lucy lays dead on a bed. There are restraints on her wrists and ankles and head. There is a collar around her neck. She is in a room decorated in typical Helios yellow and adorned with silver polygons._

_But none of that matters. What matters is Handsome Jack, standing over her, grinning with an unscarred face._

_“No rules in the afterlife, sweetheart,” Jack tells her. “Just you and me. I’ll forgive you for everything. You’re going to make it up to me, and then everything will be okay.”_

_Lucy – whose name was still Angel, back then – doesn’t bother trying to scream. She has died, and even in death she did not escape Jack. There is nothing left to fight for._

_A woman comes into the room. She is unrecognisable to then-Angel, her face and body hidden behind dense layers of fabric. But Lucy knows who she is immediately: Eve._

_“What the hell are you wearing?” Jack asks her, with a smirk. Eve offers only a shrug in response, which Jack seems to find acceptable. “You’ve got the Star, right? So, where did you put it? I hope it’s somewhere sexy. I always kind of wanted a hip tattoo.”_

_Lucy looks around. In one corner is Wilhelm: a cyborg and one of Jack’s most powerful underlings. He doesn’t look powerful now, though. He is unnaturally still; arms akimbo, lips slightly parted, as if he has been frozen in time._

_And then, above her, spanning the entire ceiling, a golden star appears. It is glowing so brightly that Lucy has to avert her eyes. And it speaks without a voice, in some sort of ethereal whisper that echoes inside her head:_

_“~~You have a choice: sacrifice and live, or stay as you are~~”_

_Jack gives a single-note laugh, a bark of noise that means he’s gotten exactly what he wanted. He points at Lucy, who is still tied to the table._

_“I choose life, baby,” he crows. “That’s my sacrifice right there. My daughter. The one I love more than anything else. She should be more than enough for a second chance at living, don’t you think?”_

And then Lucy’s mind skips like a third-rate record player, and the rest of the memory dissolves.

“Jack,” she says quietly, and lays her head against the carpet. “The Shining Star was meant for him. And, oh no, Jack. _Jack._ ”

* * *

* * *

“Thank you for your support back there,” Felicity says to Gaige. She likes this sympathetic, energetic girl. And even Deathtrap, lumbering and nonverbal, seems comforting and safe after the horrors of Breaktrap’s mind.

“You’re welcome,” Gaige replies. “The thing I can’t figure out is the baby flashback. I mean, what does a baby have to do with a Claptrap? There’s got to be a mysteriously complicated and probably awesomely sad backstory there, right?”

“It’s impossible to be certain, but that’s good guess,” Felicity tells her, shuddering internally. “Breaktrap might have been responsible for protecting that child, or its parents. Or she might have been humifying. Or she might have been a bystander who was traumatised just from seeing the tragedy. Or something else entirely.”

Gaige looks momentarily perplexed.

“She might be _what_?”

“A bystander,” Felicity pronounces slowly. “It means ‘ _a person who is present at an event or incident but does not take part_ ’.”

“Not that word, the other word. Humidifying?”

“Oh, that. Humifying describes a process in which an AI imagines itself as a human. In extreme cases, a humified robot believes it is completely human.”

“Wow,” Gaige says. “That’s cool!”

“I am an example of mild, normal humification,” Felicity continues, gesturing to the middle of her chassis. She projects a tiny image of her preferred form: a blonde woman with neatly-styled hair, functional-yet-nautical clothes, and excellent eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, I remember!” Gaige says, slamming her robot fist against her human hand. “Some creep made you pretend to be his girlfriend.”

“Oh, I had this persona long before Keith,” Felicity says airily. “I created it when I was new. I’d just emerged from the circle and been loaded onto the ship, and they introduced me to Captain Zarpedon. She was the best. I thought all humans must be admirable, like her, so I humified myself a little.”

“Wooow,” Gaige says, her eyes shining. “That’s so cool! I wonder if Deathtrap has a human-sona?”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“I wonder if that baby was Breaktrap’s human-sona. Oh, or one of the parents. That would be even more tragic! We have to get to the bottom of this.”

Felicity sighs.

“One, she’s evil. And two, we have no way of finding out. Now can we please talk about something else?”

Gaige looks as if she’s about to press the issue, but then Deathtrap coos softly and that seems to be that. They walk around Sanctuary in silence for a few moments, until Gaige manages to think of another topic of conversation.

“So… hey…” Gaige begins, too casually.

“You may not take me apart to see how I work,” Felicity informs her. “You’ve asked three times now, and I’ve refused each request.”

“You came here with… _her_ … right?” Gaige ploughs on, continuing as if she hadn’t heard Felicity at all.

“Oh, yes, don’t talk to Eve, she’s terrible.”

“With _Angel_. Aw crap, I mean _Lucy._ Nuts ‘n bolts, I can’t even get her name right, how am I ever going to…”

Gaige trails off, uncharacteristically pathetic. Deathtrap bobbles worriedly. Felicity feels profoundly relieved: this is familiar emotional territory.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Gaige says, in a voice that is both very loud and very small. “And _you_ know her. What do I do? What do I say? What does she like?”

“She likes robots and pigeons—”

“Great! I’ll build her a robot pigeon!”

This is rapidly getting out of grip-claw.

“Why don’t you start by talking to her?”

“But that’s so much harder!” Gaige pouts. “What do I say?”

Felicity considers this for a moment. She has some ideas, but it might be good to have more experienced perspectives.

“I’m calling some other humans,” she tells Gaige. “They might be able to help. Brick? Mordecai? Any advice on a good first move for a young woman who has developed feelings for another young woman?”

“Who cares?” Brick says.

“ _I_ care,” Mordecai counters. “Don’t do anything rash. Get to know her really well as a friend. If she likes you back, you’ll be able to figure that out by the way she acts.”

“That’s stupid,” Brick announces. “Listen, Slab, look at her face and look at her past. If she’s more hands— I mean, if she’s prettier than you, give it up. If she’s dated people that are more popular than you, give it up. If it’s both, then double give up.”

Gaige looks panicked. Felicity lays a claw on the back of her lower leg.

“Brick, that was the worst,” she says. “We’re taking Mordecai’s advice. Just echo her, and say something affable."

“What, _now_?”

“You might as well get started.”

Gaige presses her fingers against her headset, eyes wild, and they wait as the line rings.

“It says to leave a message,” Gaige says, after a moment. “She must be busy. _Whew_.”

“Serves you right for not listening to me,” Brick interjects.

“Then leave a message,” Felicity says.

“WHAT? What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. What does your heart tell you?”

Gaige nods once. In a calm, clear voice, she says:

“Lucy, this is Gaige. You are my girlfriend now. Goodbye.”

Then Gaige takes off her headset and throws it down the street, before lying down and curling up into a ball. Deathtrap pats her.

* * *

* * *

Sleet King Milun contacts Lilith again, and this time he doesn’t indulge in banter or Rocko’s sarcasm. His message is as crisp as gunfire.

“You failed to surrender the Tundra Express. As promised, you have paid.”

“Have I?” Lilith asks, lazily.

The video swings away from Milun and his mighty power armour, and shows the other person in the room. A woman about Lilith’s age, with short hair and large eyes and severe nasal bleeding. She waves weakly at the camera, before flopping against the bars of her cage and sinking to the ground.

Lilith stops breathing.

“Tannis,” she chokes. “Listen, I’m going to get you out of there. Milun, let her go!”

She feels ill. There’s a rumour that Milun can give life with one hand, and take it away with the other. She doesn’t want her scientist – or _any_ of her people – in the same room as him.

“I will not release her for free,” he says. “But I would accept an exchange. Her for you.”

“The threshers killed my favourite skag pack,” Tannis babbles. “Search the piles.”

“What did you do to her?” Lilith snaps.

“Her. For. You,” Milun repeats. “No other trade will suffice, Commander Lilith. Surrender yourself to the Thousand Cuts South facility, exactly one week from now, or she will die. Come alone, or you will both die. I have nothing else to say.”

And with that, he terminates the call. Lilith stares at the blank echo screen, her mind racing.

* * *

* * *

Lucy ignores the beeping of her echo message bank, and contacts Eve. Ninety seconds later, the woman is on Lucy’s doorstep.

“What do you need, kid?” she asks.

Lucy takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been having a strange dream,” she says, “about a room that looks like Helios, but isn’t. You are there, and so is Handsome Jack.”

Lucy looks up at Eve, who is watching her impassively.

“But it’s not a dream, is it?” Lucy asks. “It’s a memory. The Shining Star’s second use was meant for Jack. And he _trusted_ you to bring the Star to him – or at least he thought you were someone he trusted.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” Eve says, quietly. “Listen—”

“And worst of all,” Lucy continues, her voice rising, “Jack is still out there, somewhere. He might be dead, but he still _exists_. Where were we? What was that place? What, if anything, is keeping him from coming here?”

“I don’t know,” Eve replies.

“You don’t _know_? Do you have any idea how important—”

Eve kneels down and grabs Lucy by the shoulders.

“I don’t know where he is,” she says, loudly. “I don’t know what that place was. But I know he can’t get to you. You’re safe!”

Lucy snorts and looks away. Nobody is ever safe while Jack is around. Eve, surprisingly, seems to read her mood.

“The Shining Star requires sacrifice,” she elaborates.

Yes. Jack was preparing to sacrifice whatever was left of Lucy. And for her own part, Lucy suspects she sacrificed her powers.

“When I used it, I gave up the ability to kill the living,” Eve continues. “But Jack _isn’t_ alive. If he shows up, I will kill him. I won’t let him touch you.”

It’s a touching sentiment. Possibly misguided, but comforting all the same. Lucy feels her pulse return to normal.

Although, speaking of misguided.

“Why are you protecting me?” she asks. “Why did you bring me back to life? Whether you were an ally or a spy at the time of using the Star, the risk of bringing it to me must have been enormous. Do I know you?”

Eve gets back to her feet.

“About a month after you died,” she says, “someone told me about the death of Jack’s daughter. Until then, I didn’t even know you existed.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, kiddo. In your words: ‘I saved you against Jack’s wishes’. In my words: I stole you from Jack. How could I not love you?”

* * *

* * *

Lilith summons all the available vault hunters for an important mission. Some go to the headquarters in person, like Gaige, who takes Felicity with her. Some connect remotely, including a man so generically handsome he’s almost boring to look at, and _Athena_.

“Please, do not go alone,” Athena says, her voice and demeanor as brash as ever. Felicity positions herself behind Deathtrap, out of the gladiator’s sight.

“Oh, I’m going alone,” Lilith insists. “I’m not risking anything happening to Tannis. Axton? Mordecai? Any luck with that message she left?”

Gaige also ducks behind Deathtrap and pats Felicity on top of her chassis.

“Earl said Tannis’ favourite skags were the single-horned subspecies,” Mordecai says. “They’re so endangered that Hammerlock’s almanac already classifies them as extinct. But there used to be a small pack near the river. I assume Tannis left a clue there.”

“Lil, you can’t beat the Sleets alone,” Brick says.

“And that’s not accounting for the threshers,” Maya adds. Maya is another siren and authority figure. Felicity has taken to thinking of her as ‘blue Lilith’.

“Maybe I can help,” Felicity says quietly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but what if we had a robot army?”

“Let’s just see how this plays out,” Gaige whispers back.

“It could be a trap,” Athena says, in her oh-I’m-so-great-look-at-me voice. “You may not recover your scientist at all, no matter what you do.”

“I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded,” says a familiar voice over the echo conference call, “but Esbiun could still have a hand in this. And we don’t yet know if he can be beaten at all.”

“Lucy!” Felicity says, emerging from her hiding spot long enough to wave.

“Aw CRAP!” Gaige says, remaining firmly behind her robot.

“Hi, Flicktrap,” Lucy says.

“Angel,” Maya says evenly. “Good to see you again.”

“Lucy, listen,” Felicity says quickly, “if you haven’t checked your messages yet, _don’t_.”

“Oh? I have an unread message that I’ve been meaning to—”

“Delete it!” Felicity advises.

Lucy looks confused, but nods. Gaige gives Felicity a covert thumbs up.

“We need to stay on track,” Lilith says impatiently.

“I’ve never seen that Claptrap before,” Athena announces, glaring at Lucy. “Can we trust it?”

Felicity feels her metaphorical blood metaphorically boil.

“The name is _Flicktrap_ ,” she says angrily. “And I’m not listening to anything else that comes out of you unless you come and say it in person!”

For a moment, there is an uncomfortable silence in the room. The only person who doesn’t look surprised is Lucy. Even Athena seems momentarily unsettled. And then Axton pipes up.

“Aaand I’ve got the message,” he says cheerily. “There were a bunch of echo recorders in the abandoned den, so I just took ‘em all. This recorder has human bite marks as well as skag, so I’m guessing that’s the one we want.”

Patricia Tannis sounds like an interesting woman.

“Play it,” Lilith orders.

“Okay, here we go,” Axton says, and then there are a few beeps as the echo recorder comes online.

At first, there are only the sounds of a struggle. And then heavy, desperate footsteps. And then Tannis speaks.

“Lilith,” she says hoarsely. “Don’t try to save me. The Sleets have a collar.”

* * *

* * *

Lilith scrunches her hands in her hair.

“Does she mean… a _siren_ collar?” Maya asks.

“There is one collar that we didn’t manage to keep track of,” Mordecai says heavily. “I guess the Sleets found it before we did.”

“Axton, play another recording,” Lilith says.

“But—”

“Just do it!”

From Axton’s line, there is another beep, and then some very similar-sounding background noises.

“Similarly, Maya should not try to save me,” Tannis’ recorded voice announces. “Nor any other siren you’ve had the fortune of acquiring in my absence.”

The line goes dead.

“She didn’t need to make that second message,” Brick mutters.

“No, she really did not,” Lilith agrees. But Tannis is Tannis. And Tannis has done so much for Lilith and for Pandora. She deserves to live. How on earth did the Sleets even manage to grab her?

“Next recording?” Axton asks.

“You know it, killer.”

The third echo recorder begins with the wet noises of gratuitous kissing. Then there’s the sound of Moxxi’s voice, laughing.

“I don’t usually do this with complete strangers,” she purrs. “But—”

“Stop playing. Stop playing!” Lilith yells, waving her arms.

Why does everything always devolve into one of Moxxi’s conquests?

“Sorry Commander. The skags must have barfed a bunch of random recorders into their den, and then Tannis added hers to the pile.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lilith tells him wearily.

Axton gives a little laugh. It’s a kind-of giggle that makes him sound completely empty-headed, that makes people underestimate him.

Speaking of being underestimated…

“It’s decided,” Lilith announces loudly. “I’m going to Thousand Cuts. Hey Brick? Make sure we have some cocoa in the stores. I’m sure Tannis will be thirsty when she gets back.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy spends the next four days pacing, writing down everything she can remember about Thousand Cuts topography, and telling Flicktrap over and over:

“We have to find another way. Lilith _cannot_ go into this kind of danger alone.”

It’s a mantra. Lucy finds comfort in mantras. Her first was ‘ _stop Jack’._

On the fifth day, Gaige shows up at their door, looking very dishevelled and somewhat unbalanced. She pushes her way past Agthri and approaches Lucy and Flicktrap with unnerving confidence. Lucy gulps and wishes she still had a planet-sized brain, so that she might be able to hold a conversation with this beautiful young woman.

“Uh… hi?”

Instead of returning the greeting and sending them into another torturous conversational loop, Gaige walks right up to Lucy and points at her.

“Ah _ha_ ,” Gaige says triumphantly. “I am too sleep-deprived to be terrified of pretty girls. You have no power over me today!”

“Wait, am… am I one of these pretty girls?” Lucy asks. Her heart is pounding in her chest. The tip of Gaige’s finger is less than an inch from her nose.

“Why are you here?” Flicktrap asks Gaige. “We are trying to find a way to empower Lilith against the Sleets, so distractions are unwelcome.”

Gaige gives Flicktrap a strange look. Flicktrap replies ‘ _she’s not in a good mood’_ in a whisper she presumably thought was too quiet for Lucy to hear. Gaige shrugs.

“Uh, did you forget that I am the _greatest engineer alive_?” Gaige asks, striking a victorious pose with her arms straight up in the air. “I came to tell you I’ve finalised a neat piece of code that will allow any class of robot to interface with and utilise a digistruction rod.”

“Is that likely to help?” Lucy asks, confused.

“Is the software compatible with my current body?” Flicktrap asks.

“Yes to both questions!” Gaige says, wobbling a little. “Don’t you get it? We can grant Flicktrap limited but realistic holographic powers, so she can _pretend_ to be Lilith.”

Lucy is impressed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she says.

“I’m a genius,” Gaige tells her.

“Do we have a spare digistruction rod?”

Digistruct parts are even more elusive than booster matrices, and three times as fragile. Gaige’s energy fades and she topples inelegantly to the floor.

“So, here’s the thing,” she begins, and tosses a banana-sized cylinder onto Lucy’s coffee-table-slash-dining-table-slash-desk. “Spare? Yes. Digistruction Rod? Yes! But it’s not exactly usable.”

“As evidenced by the way it’s bent at a ninety degree angle,” Flicktrap remarks. “And giving off showers of sparks.”

“Karima may be able to help,” Lucy suggests. “She might be amenable to a request from a friendly face.”

The administrator of Overlook still seems to have reservations about Flicktrap and Lucy. But who could possibly resist Gaige… those bright eyes… that killer smile… those shoulders…

“Karima, Moxxi and I workshopped this piece a few weeks ago,” Gaige admits. “No-one in Sanctuary can fix it. But I figured, with your combined knowledge and Flicktrap’s ability to not break every computer she touches, maybe you two could make it work?”

Lucy looks at the mangled digistruction rod and her furiously-beating heart slows, then sinks.

“You figured incorrectly,” Flicktrap informs Gaige.

“She’s right. Even if I still had my siren digistruct powers, I don’t think I could fix something so delicate and complicated.”

“I’m scanning the echonet now, and I’m not seeing even one instance of a rod being successfully repaired,” Flicktrap adds. “It seems as if broken rods stay broken.”

This revelation casts a pall over the room. Lucy knows – they all know – that purchasing a new digistruction rod isn’t an option. Gaige sighs loudly.

“I kinda knew that,” she says, not meeting Lucy’s eyes. “I guess this wasn’t really much of an idea after all.”

“Now, now,” Flicktrap replies. “It was a good idea, with only one flaw. And I would have _loved_ the chance to digistruct myself a human body. Even the possibility of it made me happy for a moment.”

Lucy grits her teeth. On one hand, she could stay silent and _not_ further upset the woman of her hitherto-unrealised dreams. On the other hand, finding errors in people’s best laid plans was the sole purpose of her entire childhood.

_I guess I’m also losing my fear of pretty girls_ , Lucy thinks grimly. Out loud, she says:

“A digistructed Lilith, even supported by a clever AI, would not have fooled the Sleets. They will be expecting a siren. Nobody can fake being a real, live siren.”

“Huhn,” Gaige mutters. “Ugh. Yeah. Oy, I’m a dumbass. What must you think of me? Actually, don’t answer that. I should… I should go.”

Oh crap. Shit. Her feelings are hurt.

“I,” Lucy begins, panicking. “I-I-I mean we _have_ a siren who is technically immune to collars. Me. So if you included me in the hologram somehow...”

Flicktrap looks possibly gleeful.

“Together, we could be a plausible Lilith,” she agrees. “I could digistruct a Lilith around the both of us. Lucy, you could direct all the walking and human movement, so it appears natural. And since you have no powers to speak of – yet – the collar won’t affect you!”

“Brilliant,” Lucy says. With some effort, she turns to Gaige. “See? It’s still a great idea.”

“O-kay,” Gaige says, soberly. “But what about—”

“Worry not, her lag has no lasting effect on me,” Flicktrap says, planting her grip-claws on the part of her chassis that might be considered ‘hips’. “We’ve tried it once before, and after the initial zap, I’m fine as long as we stay together.”

“We should test that again before making the journey,” Lucy points out. “Twenty-four hours should—”

“But!” Gaige interrupts. “We! Don’t! Have! A! Digistruction! Rod! _Remember?_ ”

Silence falls. Flicktrap meets Lucy’s gaze, and shrugs.

“We know,” Lucy says, quietly. “We were just… we were just…”

“We were trying to remind you that you _are_ smart,” Flicktrap tells Gaige. “And that idea had merit.”

“Right! A few more suggestions from you, and we should be able to safely outsmart Milun.”

Gaige hesitates a moment and then smiles at Lucy. Lucy tries not to fall over.

“You really think so, huh? Well, I guess it’s back to the drawing board then. Thanks girls. This was fun.”

Gaige opens several cupboards and a fridge before she finds the door, and staggers back outside where Deathtrap is waiting for her.

“And get some sleep!” Flicktrap yells as she leaves.

* * *

* * *

That evening, Felicity contacts Gaige to ask about the digistruction rod.

“We literally just discussed this,” Gaige reminds her. “It’s broken as heck. Do you know what would happen to you if we put that rod into you? You’d die!”

Felicity suspected as much.

“How quickly would I die?” she asks, conversationally.

“Uh, I guess it would take a few minutes. But they’d be agonising minutes. Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

Felicity considers this. Lucy will be busy with visitors tonight, and they have a little over one day before Lilith starts Operation: Rescue Tannis (Or Die Trying).

“Meet me at Pierce Station in fifteen minutes,” she tells Gaige. “I have an idea.”

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 12_   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _a/n: I realise I've only got a couple of readers, but I appreciate each of you very much. there won't be any updates over the next few weeks (i don't want to clog up all y'alls notifications with BL3 coming out). but yeah thank you and ilu and i'll be back in a little while._  
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 


	12. Happiness (xi): Overdrawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _ if you like Zed/Marcus or the concept of Maya being Strong and easily lifting Heavy Objects, then this is the chapter for you _   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

“Remember your last encounter with a collar?” Mordecai asks angrily. “Remember when you went to Control Core Angel to help? Remember how that mission ended, with Lucy dead and Roland dead – so we had this nice little pile of corpses – and you got enslaved by Jack and tortured until Maya’s team took out the Warrior? Because I remember all of that.”

“He has a point,” Brick says to Lilith.

“Remember how many times I saved your asses?” Lilith parries. “Besides, things will be different this time because thanks to Tannis, I know about the collar in advance. I’ll be prepared.”

Brick turns and looks at Mordecai.

“She’s got a point,” he rumbles.

“You’re not _making_ any preparations,” Mordecai says, exasperatedly. “You’re just rushing in with guns and fire blazing, like you always do.”

“He’s got a point.”

“ _Brick_ ,” Lilith warns.

From his perch atop her head, Talon makes a sad noise that probably translates to ‘ _oh-no-aunt-and-dad-and-second-dad-are-fighting_ ’. Lilith reaches up and pats him on his scaly ankle. Mordecai exhales loudly.

“We can’t afford to lose anyone else,” he says, more gently.

Lilith tries to smile, but she can’t quite manage it.

“That’s why I have to do this,” she replies.

* * *

* * *

Lucy doesn’t have time to worry about Flicktrap’s sudden departure, because Mordecai and Brick arrive at her door. Talon lands on the roof, along with every pigeon in Overlook. Lucy grins up at all the fat, fluffy bodies before following her friends inside.

“You okay?” Mordecai asks her, before he even sits down. “We haven’t heard from you in days.”

“I’m fine,” Lucy lies. Flicktrap made her promise to take a break from research tonight. “I was just in the middle of explaining something to Agthri. Did you bring the pieces?”

Brick opens one massive hand, and six tiny figures fall to the table below. Agthri watches them silently.

“Perfect,” Lucy says. “This shouldn’t take long. Brick, there’s food in the fridge for you. Mordecai, there’s food in the fridge for Talon. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“She is explaining the answer to the question: what is a vault hunter,” Agthri adds. “It is diverting.”

“That’s easy,” Brick says. “Someone who hunts vaults. Next question.”

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” Lucy says. “Technically, Marcus decides who earns the title of Vault Hunter, and what their specific moniker will be. But this is a more complicated question. What is _a_ vault hunter?”

“Huh?” Mordecai asks. He sits down on the back of the couch, backwards.

“It’s just a fun thought experiment,” Lucy says. She points to the figures, which have been customised to represent Maya, Axton, Zero, Salvador, Krieg, and the beautiful Gaige.

“This is Maya’s team,” she says. “How many vault hunters are there?”

“Six,” Agthri and Brick say in unison. Brick high-fives the robot so hard one of their arms fall off.

“Yes, six. An easy answer, right? Now let’s say the group gets separated.”

Lucy places a pebble between the Zero and Salvador figures.

“If you break those, Tina will kill all of us,” Mordecai interjects.

“Noted. Agthri, how many vault hunters do we have on each side?”

“Three on the left, and three on the right,” Agthri says.

“So, still a total of six,” Lucy agrees. “Which makes sense, since it’s still the same number of people.”

“This is a _lot_ of math,” Brick says, disapprovingly.

“It really isn’t,” Mordecai says.

Brick kneels down on the couch cushions and presses his face against Mordecai’s back. Mordecai smiles.

“Tell me when it’s over.”

“Okay, last scenario,” Lucy says, picking up the Gaige figurine and plucking out the tiny removable Deathtrap component.

“Deathtrap, as you know, is an AI, and will act independently if separated from his mistress.”

“But he still acts in her interests,” Agthri points out. “And I in yours.”

Lucy is stunned into silence, and she grins fiercely.

“Thank you,” she chokes. “That means a lot to me.”

“Don’t get between a robot and their girl,” Agthri says, in a terrible imitation of Gaige’s voice.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Lucy says. “You’re free.”

“I know.”

Lucy wants to say ‘I love you’, but the words burn like poison in her throat. Even now, Lucy cannot say them. Except to Flicktrap. In stealing the AI from Jack, she somehow stole back a sliver of access to the phrase that kept her locked up and alone. But not more than a sliver.

“So, what happens next?” Agthri asks, gesturing to the table.

“Oh, right. In this case, the group gets separated again, except that Deathtrap is with Maya, Axton, and Zero.”

Agthri tilts their head.

“But Gaige is still with Salvador and Krieg?”

“Yes.”

Agthri beeps and burbles a few times as they process this.

“Seven vault hunters,” they say finally.

Lucy re-attaches the Deathtrap to his Gaige, and holds the completed figure out in Agthri’s direction.

“So, is this a vault hunter? Or two vault hunters?”

“I… no longer know the answer to that question.”

“Exactly! Isn’t this fun?”

Agthri turns to Mordecai and Brick.

“I think you can interrupt us now,” the loader says, diplomatically. “Please.”

* * *

* * *

“I’ve got to admit, I never thought of this,” Gaige murmurs. “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Felicity replies. “Although I ask that you stay close by the infirmary, just in case something goes wrong.”

“Of course.”

With this declaration, Gaige opens the back of Felicity’s claptrap chassis and inserts the digistruction rod.

“It’s not so bad,” Felicity remarks, as Gaige quickly screws the panel back into place. “I can feel a slight twinge of discomfort, but it’s not… oh… oh no… oh _no_! Oh no!! It feels like my circuits are melting! Help! Help!!”

In an instant, her entire body is flooded with pain. Felicity wants to scratch off her own metal skin and _dig_ the faulty rod out of her. It’s too much to bear.

“Go!” Gaige says, pushing her towards the infirmary.

But Felicity can barely see, let alone steer. Her senses are overloaded with her own screaming. In the end, it is only momentum and luck that bring her to her destination.

Zed looks at her over his mask. He has both arms submerged in a bin full of viscera, for reasons Felicity may never know and really doesn’t care about right now.

“Thought I heard yelling,” he drawls. "If you need healin', step right up!"

Felicity cannot step up. She falls over on the blood-soaked tiles, chanting the word “pain” like a mantra. After several agonising seconds, Zed seems to understand.

He holds out a psycho-magic-dealing hand, and heals her.

The relief isn’t immediate this time; it’s stilted and gradual, like a stage curtain being hoisted aside. But slowly, surely, the agony wanes. Felicity has never felt more grateful, or more relieved.

“Thank you,” she babbles. “You are my new favourite human. I will make you my sister, instead of Lucy. Put me in your warship and I’ll run it for you. I’ll do anything you ask.”

At last, the pain is completely gone, and she gets up, exhausted but okay.

“Uh, stay alive out there?” Zed ventures.

It’s not much of a request, for a man who saved her life and possibly Lilith’s. Felicity salutes him, and zooms back out to find Gaige.

“Did it work? Did it _work_?”

“I don’t know!”

“Try to digistruct something!”

Felicity tries to remember what it was like interfacing with the digistruction system on the Drakensburg. She cannot.

“How do I engage the interfacing software?” she queries. “Do I simply concentrate on the shape I wish to produce?”

Before Gaige can answer, they are interrupted by a shadowy figure looming over them, and a quiet voice asking:

“What are you two doing?”

Felicity glances up to see the imposing figure of Blue Lilith. No, wait, what was her real name? Maya.

“We just made a functioning digistruction rod,” Gaige brags. “No big deal.”

“That’s impressive,” Maya replies, smiling. “How did you do it?”

“It was Flicktrap’s idea,” Gaige says fondly.

“Well, we had a broken rod,” Felicity explains, still giddy with success. “So we installed it in me, and had your Dr Zed heal me.”

“And kaboosh, functioning rod,” Gaige says. “Don’t mess with a girl and her two bots, ha ha!”

“So Zed can fix complex digistruction equipment now?” Maya says, with admiration. “Lovely! He’s come a long way in a short time. A few weeks ago, he couldn’t even fix a module without nearly dying.”

“What do you mean, nearly dying?” Felicity asks, suddenly nervous.

Maya stops smiling.

“You told him about the broken rod, right?” she asks. “You didn’t have him heal you blindly, did you?”

Felicity looks at Gaige, who is admiring the pavement.

“ _Did_ you?” Maya asks again.

“He’s fine, Maya,” Gaige says, folding her arms.

Felicity turns on her wheel, and rolls back to the infirmary entrance. Zed is still standing in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth. A thin stream of blood is dribbling down his elbow, apparently originating from somewhere within his glove. He looks a little paler than usual. He does _not_ look fine.

“Oh my God, he’s overdrawn,” Maya exclaims. She presses her non-tattooed hand against her head, distinctly unhappy.

“He’s what now?” Gaige asks.

“Can he not just heal himself?” Felicity asks. This seems like such a paradoxical problem to have.

“Not right now,” Maya says, grimly. She glares at them. “I’ll deal with this. You two stay here. And don’t cause any more trouble.”

With that, Maya goes into the infirmary. Gaige crouches down next to Felicity, and they both peer around the doorframe to watch.

“What does ‘overdrawn’ mean in this context?” Felicity whispers.

“No idea. My question is, why can’t we bring in Krieg to heal him?”

“Krieg has the next few hours off,” Felicity answers. “I checked his schedule before I chose this time. I wanted him out of the way, since he’s not a metal-healer.”

“Ah. Good thinking.”

Inside, Zed squints at Maya.

“Hey,” he drawls. “You okay? You’re lookin’ kinda blurry.”

Maya sighs, and rests a steady hand on his bile-spattered shoulder.

“You’re overdrawn,” she says. “If you’re having visual disturbances, you’re already at level two. You need to sit down.”

Zed laughs, a sound reminiscent of opening a rusty door that has had its hinges replaced by smaller, rustier doors.

“I’m not overdrawn,” he says. “You’re overdrawn.”

Maya drags a gurney over and Zed sits down abruptly. His glove blood overflows as he grabs the rail. Maya pulls up two chairs, and on one she places a stack of hospital masks, a pad of paper, and a pen.

“I’ll get some tea,” Maya says. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“I’m not get a medical licence. I’m _style_.”

“You sure are,” Maya replies indulgently. “The good thing is that you’re only at level two, so you don’t need any serious treatment.”

Maya finds a mug, draws water from the sink, and boils it using her fiery phaselock powers. Zed picks up a mask from the stack, and places it over his existing, ever-present surgical mask. Then he picks up another, and uses it to cover one eye like a patch. He is tying a third to his elbow when Maya turns around with a steaming cup of tea. Or at least, a steaming cup of water. Felicity isn’t sure if she added any actual leaves to it.

“Ah,” Maya says, ruefully. “Level three, huh?”

“You need what you got,” Zed says, taking the tea from her and immediately dropping it on the floor with his blood-slippery gloves. “Now scam! Cram? Scacram?”

“Regrettably, I cannot scram at this moment,” Maya deadpans. “You know what has to happen at level three.”

This statement seems to resonate with Zed, even in his altered state.

“I ain’t doing that,” he announces. “They’re my pride and joy.”

Maya shrugs.

“Can’t be joyful _or_ proud if you’re dead.”

She walks back towards the entrance, and takes a moment to glower at Felicity and Gaige. Then she picks up the vending machine on the left, hefting it into her arms and carrying it back to the gurney like it’s made of so much foam.

“I wanna be that strong someday,” Gaige whispers, her eyes shining. “Or I want to upgrade Deathtrap to be that strong. I’d be happy with either outcome.”

Zed folds his arms and looks away. One of his gloves slides off his hand and is carried to the floor on a rivulet of fresh blood.

“There’s no need for that,” he says, with exaggerated coherence. “Jus’… jus’ get… Krieg… heesa… goodkid...”

“He can’t heal overdraw,” Maya says, with the eminent patience of someone who has had this exact conversation in this exact order before. “The time before last, he tried to heal you for an hour because you were both too stubborn to call for help. You nearly died.”

“I _always_ nearly die,” Zed says, tilting his head from side to side mockingly. 

“Afterwards, you had to spend a week in bed to recover. Sanctuary lost half its healing force for seven days.”

Zed runs his oozing hands over his face.

“I keep… working… more or less,” he pronounces.

Maya grabs his un-gloved hand and presses it against the vending machine.

“The only person who can heal overdraw is you,” she says sternly.

Zed grimaces and flexes his fingers. With a dull _pew_ noise, the vending machine changes from vibrant red to sickly, generic grey.

“Whoa, he removed the enchantment,” Gaige says quietly, awestruck.

“Have a nice day,” the vanilla med vendor says, in a computerised, non-Zed voice.

“Are ya happy now?” Zed asks Maya. He sounds sad, but a little brighter than before.

“Are you well now?” Maya retorts.

“’Course,” Zed says, getting to his feet. “I just drank a whole gol-dern enchantment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—“

He faceplants onto the floor. Maya sighs deeply, and retrieves the other vending machine from the entrance.

“That one’s my favourite,” Zed protests, pushing several masks onto his arm like bracelets.

“Nevertheless.”

“I’m gettin’ better.”

“Nevertheless.”

Zed sighs and reaches out, and pulls the enchantment from the second vending machine. Then he lays down on the filthy infirmary tiles.

“Is he healed?” Felicity asks Gaige, uncertainly.

Maya seems to be pondering the same question. She hoists the old psycho back onto the gurney with superhuman strength, and spends a few moments just watching over him.

Then Zed reaches for the pen.

“I’m just gonna—”

“Please don’t say ‘make some doodles’,” Maya interrupts, tiredly.

“I’m just gonna make some doodles, dude.”

Felicity engages telescopic vision, and watches as Zed draws an accurate and complex diagram of a human knee joint, labelling it with perfect italic letters. His ‘doodle’ could be a diagram from a text book.

Maya makes a frustrated grunt.

“Level four,” she says. “And there are no more vending machines in here. You know what that means.”

“Anything I steal from a patient belongs to _me_ ,” Zed babbles.

Maya walks back over to the door.

“Gaige,” she says. “Flicktrap. You need to leave now.”

“What?” Felicity demands. “But he’s still sick. We don’t know if—”

“You need to _leave_ ,” Maya says. “And you need alibis for tonight. For right now, and for when you came in here with the broken component. And for all the time in between. No matter what, never tell anyone you were involved in this.”

“But what if he dies?” Felicity asks. “Humans are so fragile. And if he lives, won’t _he_ tell people I was his patient right before he overdrew?”

“I ain’t a snitch!” Zed yells from inside. “She’s the snitch.”

“Ignore him,” Maya says. “I’m not going to tell anyone either. Now, go!”

With this command given, Maya steps back inside and starts to call someone on her echo headset.

“I’m not leaving,” Felicity says.

“That’s the spirit,” Gaige says, proudly. “We have to see this through. Just stay hidden, okay?”

“Got it.”

Maya’s call connects, and she shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

“Marcus? Yes, I know what time it is. I need your help. Level four.”

Gaige gulps audibly.

“Stay _really_ hidden,” she says.

* * *

* * *

Lilith leans back in her chair

“Alright, killer, what do you have for me?”

Timothy laughs too loudly, and says:

“Killer? Really? I’m one of your killers already? I mean, I thought at least there would be an initiat—”

“We don’t have time for this,” Lilith interrupts.

In the past, she would have been flattered by his starry-eyed enthusiasm. But now every distraction grates on her nerves. Tannis is kidnapped, they’re all in an unquantified amount of danger from Esbiun, and the formalities of conversation feel flimsy and irrelevant.

“Right. No problem. So, information on Milun is pretty limited, but I can say for sure that he’s way more mysterious than your average bandit king. You told me he stepped in to lead the Sleets after they broke away from the Slabs, right?”

“That’s right. The Sleets needed a new king, and they chose Milun. We never figured out why, exactly. Maybe they were impressed with his shiny armour?”

It doesn’t take much to lead a single bandit clan. Now _uniting_ bandit clans, that was special. That was something that only Roland could do.

“Well apparently, Milun didn’t exist a few years ago,” Timothy informs her. “We searched all the databases we could infiltrate, and this guy seems to have just popped into existence around the same time Jack died.”

Timothy lowers both his voice and he eyes when he says Jack’s name. The handsome bastard might be dead, but he’s left a scar on the psyche of every living Pandoran.

“Are you saying the two are connected?” Lilith asks, incredulously.

“No. Milun hates Hyperion as much as he hates the Crimson Raiders,” Timothy continues. “My best guess is that Milun is a recent alias of someone who is extremely good at hiding. But I can’t say for sure.”

“Could you hazard a guess?”

“I could make ten thousand guesses, each as accurate as any other.”

Lilith slumps over her desk. Of course Timothy doesn’t have any useful information. No mission on this cursed planet is ever easy.

“And my three final points are: one, nobody knows what Milun looks like underneath the power suit. Which probably shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

Lilith lifts her head.

“He guards his face?” she says, thoughtfully. “Maybe we can use that against him.”

“And _nobody_ really understands his powers. Sure, other people can deal both healing and damage – including my old colleague Claptrap, and your siren friend Maya – but nobody else has their powers compartmentalised within their body the way Milun seems to. So who knows what that’s about?”

Damage with the right hand, healing with the left hand. Lilith has been doing her own research as well.

“Lastly, as you know, he’s never been brave enough to attack you directly before,” Timothy finishes. “He may have gotten stronger, or he may have gotten desperate.”

“Let’s hope it’s the latter,” Lilith replies, but the doubt in her voice is audible, even to her own ears.

* * *

* * *

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Lucy asks. She is talking about Lilith, of course. Lilith, who comprises one quarter of the group Lucy thinks of as her First Four, that is, Lucy’s original group of vault hunters.

Brick and Mordecai, the other two surviving quarters of the First Four, exchange an unhappy glance.

“If anybody can do it,” Brick says, “she can.”

“Oh.”

Lilith is the most powerful siren in the known universe. Brick has, essentially, told Lucy nothing. Which means it is likely that Lilith has no strategy.

“She’s doing her best,” Brick adds, perhaps sensing her gloom.

“She’s _tired_ ,” Lucy says, surprising herself.

Mordecai is silent for a moment, and then he says:

“Yeah.”

Before he can say anything further, there is a sharp knock at the door. Agthri is behind the cottage, feeding pigeons, so Lucy excuses herself and opens the door. A familiar figure, wrapped in fabric strips, is waiting on the doorstop.

Lucy feels fifty pounds lighter. Eve. Eve, who stole Lucy from Jack.

“One moment,” she calls to Brick and Mordecai, and steps outside. “Hi. I missed you. Do you want to help me research siren collars after my visitors leave?”

It’s not much of an offer, really, but Lucy can’t afford to take any more time off.

“Sweet,” Eve replies, in a strange-sounding voice. “I thought you might open the door to any d-wad wrapped in blue ribbons, but I have to admit, I wasn’t sure.”

“ _You_ ,” Lucy snarls. “Esbiun. How dare you show your face here!”

Lucy is suddenly aware of the fact that she is both unarmed and alone.

“Technically, this is Eve’s face. Well, actually, it ain’t even her face because of all the—”

“Brick! Talon!”

Talon hops across the roof and peers down at them. Then he gives a puzzled chirp. Lucy groans inwardly.

“Brick! BRICK!”

She’s not sure how soundproof the cottage walls are. It never occurred to her to check, until now. In so many ways, Lucy isn’t used to living on her own.

“I just want to talk,” Esbiun says. He shapeshifts back to his copy of Lucy’s body, and a dozen yards of fabric falls to the floor at his feet. He is, however, still wearing the remnants of the pirate beard on top of his head, like a hat.

“You’ve said that before,” Lucy reminds him, angrily. “Also, you know that’s not how facial hair… works… right?”

“Look, I can save your pal Tannis if you agree to leave the Resurrector to me,” Esbiun tells her. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Lucy hesitates.

“You want to make a deal?” she asks, incredulously. “No. You could be behind Tannis’ capture in the first place. And last time we spoke, you wanted me to _kill people._ ”

“No killing this time,” Esbiun assures her. “You stay out of my way, and you’ll get your professor back unharmed.”

“She’s _already_ harmed,” Lucy says, her mind racing. Esbiun is untrustworthy, but the possibility of protecting both Tannis and Lilith is tempting.

But she _needs_ that vault. Pandora needs hope.

“Speaking of harm,” Esbiun says, leaning awkwardly against the letterbox, “my Breaktrap is missing. You seen her?”

Lucy shakes her head at the sheer audacity of the question.

“You sent her to destroy Sanctuary!”

“Well, yeah, but…” Esbiun sounds petulant, like a child admitting to a misdemeanour. “Can I have her back? I mean, I could make another one, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’s kind of unique.”

“You can make claptraps?” Lucy asks. “The line was discontinued, there was only one left, but you have the ability to make more?”

“Well, sorta? But we’re way off topic,” Esbiun replies. He points a nearly-opaque green finger at Lucy and says: “Deal? Or no deal?”

The wheels in Lucy’s head spin furiously. _What should I do_? But before she can answer, or even stall for time, the cottage door opens and Brick peers outside.

“Luce? Who you talkin’ to?” he asks.

“Loose?” Esbiun asks, scratching the back of his head.

“Luce. Short for Lucy,” Brick explains. And then he realises who he’s talking to, and frowns deeply. “You again? How many times do I got to mash you into the ground?”

Esbiun raises his eyebrows and stands his ground.

“Why don’t we find out?”

* * *

* * *

“You’re afraid of the bus driver?” Felicity asks Gaige, doubtfully.

“Hoo boy,” Gaige says. “Okay, here’s the thing about Marcus. He’s a bus driver, a gun seller, and a storyteller. But he’s also kind of terrifying when he wants to be, and he’s really protective of the healers.”

Marcus enters the infirmary from some sort of back door. He’s smiling, but in an angry way, which seems to be status quo for him. Zed doesn’t look up from his sketches, but he does wave one blood-coated arm in what he probably thinks passes for a greeting.

Maya turns on her heel, and Gaige and Felicity have to duck behind the ammo vending machine as she reaches the doorway. Maya doesn’t see them – she doesn’t even slow her stride – and she walks down the road, heading in the direction of the gun shop.

While they wait for her to come back, Felicity worries.

“What if he dies? It never occurred to me that this could happen. When I told you to install that rod, I thought the only risks were to myself!”

Gaige hugs her. Maya returns, lugging another med vending machine that she presumably scavenged from elsewhere in the city. She places it in the diminishing space surrounding the gurney.

“Here,” Maya says tersely.

“That one’s my _other_ favourite,” Zed complains.

“Well,” Maya reasons, “once you are recovered, you can—”

“Drink your magic, you stupid old man!” Marcus snaps.

Zed spends a full minute rolling his eyes – long enough that Felicity starts to worry it’s the sign of a new overdrawn level – and then he performs the de-enchantment.

“Have a nice day,” chorus the three vanilla med vending machines.

“It’s a miracle,” Zed says weakly. “I’m cured.”

He sets down the pen, and very diligently does not make any new ‘doodles’. Maya and Marcus watch him with identical, appraising expressions.

“Well, he’s either getting better,” Maya says, “or he’s moving to level five.”

“I _hate_ level five,” Marcus pronounces.

Maya’s frown deepens, and for a moment her lip twists into something like a snarl. Then she regains her composure.

“I don’t like him getting worse, either.”

“Look,” Zed says, proudly pointing to a sketch of the digestive system that was accurate down to the microscopic level, and so perfect that any designer would have wept just to behold it. “Innards!”

Marcus rubs a greasy hand over his face.

“Did you take the bubble world chip?” he asks.

Maya swears loudly.

“I thought I had remembered everything this time,” she says. “Apologies.”

Marcus reaches over, dips two fingers into Zed’s collar, and retrieves a length of thin black chain. He unfastens the clasp, and hands both the chain and its sickly-green pendant to Maya.

“I was wearin’ that,” Zed protests weakly.

“Too bad!” Marcus declares. “It’s not my fault you get to overdrawn level eight and I’m—… and _everyone_ is all upset because you’re dying and you waste a call to the bubble world just to _whine_ about your situation. I’m not dealing with that tonight!”

“He is, thankfully, still quite some way from level eight,” Maya murmurs. “I’ll keep this safe until he’s better.”

Zed doesn’t acknowledge the conversation at all. He is staring at Marcus with fascination.

“Hey,” he says, with a little bewilderment and a lot of drawl. “The name’s Zed. I, uh. I keep the medical equipment working.”

Marcus makes an exasperated noise.

“Level five. We have to get more vending machines.”

“It might not be level five,” Maya cautions. “Give him a minute.”

Zed rolls over onto his side, and props his head up on one mask-addled arm.

“You know,” he says to Marcus. “If I was twen— thirty years younger, and I was better lookin’, and I wasn’t a psycho, I’d ask you to dance.”

Marcus doesn’t answer Zed. He just turns to Maya, head tilted expectantly.

“Well, you were right,” she tells him. “I am going to get more vending machines.”

“Get six,” Marcus demands.

After Maya passes them, Felicity turns to Gaige, ready to ask about the green pendant. Gaige, however, is looking a little green herself.

“Level five is hitting on Marcus? Eww.”

“That’s what’s bothering you?” Felicity asks, stunned.

“I dunno. It’s just. Old people. Plus, Zed’s gonna be super embarrassed about this when he’s better.”

Back inside the infirmary, Zed has clambered up into a kneeling position, and is leaning into Marcus’ personal space with childlike curiosity.

“You know, your eyes look kinda purple from certain angles.”

“Lay down, Blanco.”

“Actually, they’re purple from any angle, if you stare long enough.”

“Lay down, Blanco.”

“You’re beautiful. What’s your name?”

“I have pizza in my hair.”

“You an organ donor? I bet you have the prettiest organs.”

“Shut up and lay down.”

Their dialogue continues in this manner for the fifteen minutes it takes Maya to gather six new med vending machines in the room.

“Okay,” she says, dusting her hands on her thighs. “As a friend once told me, this ought to keep your insides inside.”

Zed mercifully stops bothering Marcus and turns to Maya.

“That’s copyright!” he says, accusingly. “I’m not drinkin’ any enchantments from you now.”

Marcus scoffs under his breath. Then, without changing the disgusted expression on his face, he says:

“I will be mildly impressed if you subsume all six of these machines right now,” he says, through gritted teeth.

Zed’s eyes light up.

“I can do that,” he says.

* * *

* * *

“There’s one other thing,” Timothy says haltingly. “When our buzzard crashed in Sleet territory, Milun was there.”

“So you’ve seen him up close,” Lilith says. “You’re lucky to still be alive.”

“You could say that. Honestly, the whole incident was REALLY weird.”

“Weird?”

Tim clears his throat. In the background, one of the digi-cats attempts to say meow.

“When I dragged myself out of the vehicle, there were two groups of Sleets: the guys who shot us down, and Milun and a little posse of his lieutenants. I don’t think Milun was expecting us; it seemed more like he was on his way somewhere, and we’d interrupted him by dropping out of the sky.”

“How did you get away from him?” Lilith asks, and then immediately curses herself inwardly. The answer isn’t going to help the current situation. Milun will definitely be expecting _her_.

“We didn’t,” Timothy replies. “And by ‘we’, I mean Blue and I. The kids – the Pickles – were behind the wreckage and out of sight. Anyway, the Sleet grunts fell back and Milun raised his right hand. I was injured and unarmed, and I knew he’d kill me in one zap. So I threw myself in front of Blue, and thought ‘ _at least I get to die with the ground under my feet’_. And Milun just… hesitated. And then Eliza came barrelling in like an idiot, and grabbed me, and ran away.”

“He just let you leave? Why?”

Timothy sighs.

“My mask had been knocked aside,” he tells her, carefully. “And this was before I met Krieg.”

“So he thought you were the real Jack,” Lilith says thoughtfully. “And he didn’t want to attack the real Jack.”

“Most likely. But there is a slight chance that it was Blue who stopped Milun in his tracks. Since he was the only other one there. So maybe you’d be safer if Blue went with you?”

“You are offering me…your cat?”

Timothy laughs.

“Well, no. One, he’s not really a cat, he’s an ex-digi-clone who decided to be cat-shaped once he had the freedom of choice. And two, he and I and Red are a package deal. They might be idiots who ruined my favourite animal for me, but they’re under my protection and I’d die for them.”

“I need to go alone,” Lilith reminds Timothy, bluntly. “Er, I mean, thanks for offering. But I need to go alone. So no thank you.”

“Okay,” Timothy says, sounding profoundly relieved. “Well, good luck. You might need it.”

* * *

* * *

Esbiun promptly shapeshifts into Lilith, and holds out his arms.

“You gonna punch _this_ body?” he jeers at Brick. “You gonna go berserk on poor Lilith?”

“You ain’t Lilith,” Brick counters. “Lilith would never wear such a stupid hat.”

With that, he rushes at the ghost and swings. Esbiun avoids the attack by melting into nothingness, and promptly re-appearing a few feet to the left. Brick pivots clumsily and swings again, and Esbiun ducks again, in exactly the same way.

“That’s right, I got _stronger_ ,” he crows. “Keep coming, I don’t care.”

Lucy has no formal battle training. She searches the ground for a stick to swing, a rock to throw, _anything_.

“Oh, come _on_!” someone says exasperatedly from the roof. “I was gone for _five minutes_.”

Lucy grins, despite everything.

“Eve!”

Then she takes a moment, and glances between the fabric-clad figure looking down at her, and the greenish Lilith-clone darting around the grass.

“It’s really you, right?” she asks.

“What?” Eve asks, cocking her head. Esbiun materialises right next to Lucy and says:

“Nah, that’s also me. That’s definitely a thing I can do now. Lots of mes. Yup.”

He dematerialises as Brick comes charging at them, and Lucy quickly sidesteps out of the way. Eve – and now Lucy is sure she’s the real thing – swears and loads her shotguns.

“Get out of the way!” she calls to Lucy.

Lucy nods once, and goes back into her cottage, locking the door behind her.

“What is going on out there?” Mordecai asks

“ _He’s_ back.”

Mordecai frowns.

“That’s impossible, Lilith killed him. Wait, you mean Esbiun. Is that who I hear Brick punching?”

Lucy takes a deep breath.

“He offered me a deal.”

Mordecai folds his arms.

“The time for deals was before he tried to kill you.”

“If I give up the vault, he’ll rescue Tannis for us.”

Mordecai puts his hand on the back of his neck, bunching up his ponytail.

“It sounds tempting,” he admits. “But we can’t trust this jerk at all.”

“That is my dilemma, yes,” Lucy agrees.

Brick gives a roar of incoherent rage. Mordecai and Lucy go to the window.

“I’m trying to corral him for you, Slab King,” Eve says impatiently, firing another round at the capricious ghost. “Just _stop_ for a second and watch where he’s going.”

“Can’t stop, too angry!” Brick yells.

“You’re both crap,” Esbiun informs them. He appears directly behind Brick, and then shapeshifts into a copy of Brick. “Sweet, I’ve always wanted to try this.”

And Esbiun punches Brick.

The force of the blow knocks Brick backwards into the cottage. The floor beneath Lucy’s feet rattles from impact. Brick bounces right back into the fight and hits Esbiun with an uppercut. At the same time, Eve empties both barrels into the ghost’s surprised copy of Brick’s face.

“Nice,” Mordecai says.

Esbiun vanishes again and, this time, he does not return.

* * *

* * *

It’s nearly midnight. The infirmary is littered with a dozen grey corpses of previously-enchanted med vendors. Maya is leaning heavily against the sink, drinking cold tea. Gaige is asleep.

Marcus is examining Zed’s un-gloved hand, holding it up to the nearest neon light. A single drop of blood falls to the floor, like a crimson tear. Everything else is still. Everyone is silent.

“I think we’re done here,” Zed says, hoarsely.

“Shut _up_ ,” Marcus tells him.

A few more minutes pass, and no more blood appears. Felicity whirrs nervously. Zed has been improving – that is, passing back through the levels in descending order – for the past few hours. But level one, the bleeding hands, has proved particularly recalcitrant.

Finally, Marcus nods profoundly, and announces:

“Ah, excellent, he’s recovered. His stupid overdrawn episode is over.”

Maya just sighs, and slowly slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor. All the energy seems to have been drained out of her.

“Told ya,” Zed says, equal parts dazed, awkward and smug. “I might not have a medical license, but I’m the _best_.”

“He sounds like his old self,” Felicity tells Gaige, happily.

“Mnf,” Gaige replies, and snuggles her cheek against the top of Felicity’s chassis, still sound asleep.

At that moment, Felicity spots three familiar figures as they turn the corner and start heading towards the infirmary.

“Wake up,” she says. “We have company!”

“Mg. Wn. Wha. What?” Gaige says, slowly rubbing her eyes. “Crap, is Zed okay?”

“He’s fine,” Felicity says. “Brick and Mordecai and Talon are here. Stand up, and we’ll act like we just arrived too.”

Gaige scrambles to her feet, and tries to look inconspicuous by slouching so hard she nearly topples backwards.

“Hey, Slab,” Brick says, because apparently that’s what he calls Gaige. “Did you get hurt too?”

“Uhhh,” Gaige says.

“She was showing me some advanced engineering, and we got a little bit exploded,” Felicity supplies. “We’ve been at Gaige’s… er… workshop… all day.”

“You've got a designated workshop now?” Mordecai asks Gaige.

“I thought you just did mechanic stuff wherever you felt like it,” Brick adds.

“Right, but like I always say, my whole house is a workshop,” Gaige says nervously. “Anyway, we definitely just arrived here now, the same as you.”

Mordecai pushes Brick towards the infirmary with surprising force.

“Come on, man, you’re injured.”

As a group, they amble through the doorway.

“Whoa,” Brick says, surveying the mess of machines and blood.

“Wow,” Gaige says unconvincingly. “What a disaster. I’m surprised by this.”

“Again?” Mordecai asks.

“We’re closed,” Marcus tells them briskly.

Maya doesn’t say anything, but she spears Felicity and Gaige with an icy glare.

“We ain’t closed,” Zed says, struggling to sit up.

“You _are_ closed,” Maya rebuts, from her position on the floor.

Zed stares at the gash on Brick’s arm. He reaches out with one hand, and then stops.

“I ain’t gonna be able to use my magic for a while,” he admits. “But I think there’s, uh, a spare creature in that there drawer.”

Felicity looks around the room at all the exhausted and injured humans.

“Let’s hope it stays there,” she says. “We don’t need to introduce more danger into this situation.”

“Just open the drawer, Flicktrap,” Maya orders.

Felicity obeys, and an angry rakk launches itself into the air, almost colliding with her in its hurry to escape.

It doesn’t get more than a few feet away before it is trapped in a hovering purple sphere. Maya’s tattoo starts to glow as she clenches her hand into a fist. Two things happen at once: the rakk takes all sorts of elemental damage and slowly loses health. And Brick’s injury sparkles and heals.

After a few seconds, Brick is fully healed, and the dead rakk drops soundlessly to the floor.

_Oh_ Felicity thinks. _She can heal people if she’s killing enemies._

Humans are fascinating. Especially psychos and sirens.

“That’s so cool,” Gaige tells Maya. “I think I could watch you do phaselock forever.”

Maya doesn’t look at her. She just sits limply, head bent forward, the picture of fatigue.

Talon hops up on the edge of the gurney – bright eyed and curious, the opposite of fatigue – and Zed’s mood brightens considerably.

“Hey, it’s my best friend!” he says jovially.

Mordecai stops stroking Brick’s shoulder and makes a frustrated noise.

“He is _not_ your best friend. I thought we talked about this.”

“I think I got somethin’ for you,” Zed continues, as if he can’t hear Mordecai. He reaches under the gurney frame and rummages around. Talon gives an excited trill.

“He’s _my_ best friend,” Mordecai continues. “Goddamnit, what am I saying? He _and Blood_ are my two best friends.”

“You know, you don’t got to bring her up every time,” Brick rumbles, sounding concerned.

“I’m not forgetting about her,” Mordecai says vehemently.

“Not what I said.”

“I know, I know. I’m angry with myself, not with you.”

Marcus leaves Zed’s side, and crosses the room to sit down next to Maya. Zed manages to retrieve a handful of giblets from somewhere, and offers them to Talon.

“This here’s a macerated appendix,” he pronounces. Talon wolfs down the grisly snack. “If Mordecai can have two best friends, then so can you.”

“He only likes you because you feed him!” Mordecai protests.

“That’s a great reason to like someone,” Zed returns. “Hang on, I think I got an arm stashed somewhere around here.”

“You okay, friend?” Marcus asks Maya quietly.

“I’m fine, thank you,” the siren replies. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

“Why do you hate level five so much?”

There’s a sharpness to Maya’s voice that belies her exhaustion. Felicity turns her attention away from Mordecai and Talon, and edges a little closer to Maya’s corner of the room.

“Are you kidding?” Marcus scoffs. “It’s level five.”

“That’s what I thought at first,” Maya agrees. “But I’ve seen a few overdrawn episodes now, and I’m pretty confident that it bothers you more than level six. So tell me why.”

Marcus doesn’t answer right away, and Maya continues:

“It’s because he’s a psycho, isn’t it?”

“Uh…”

“You don’t like him hitting on you because he’s a psycho, and you’re a normal human. And, sure, you know that he doesn’t mean what he says or does when he’s overdrawn—”

Across the room, Zed picks up his level-four sketch of a digestive tract and squints at it.

“What is this supposed to be?” he asks. “Is this an armpit? I think it’s an armpit. I can’t read any of this confounded writing.”

“—but there’s a line that isn’t supposed to be crossed,” Maya continues. “Psychos marry psychos and normal humans marry normal humans. And I think you’re insulted to have a psycho flirting with you, even if it’s insincere.”

Maya’s face is twisted into a snarl once again. This is important to her. Felicity has to agree: humans are humans. If someone is a good person with similar goals, why bother with petty distinctions.

“Ah,” Marcus says knowingly. “This is about you and Krieg.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Why do you think I’m here? You think I deal with this crappy overdrawn business because I’m… because I’m _generous_?”

Marcus looks repulsed by the very idea. Maya gives a weak, unhappy little laugh.

“You look after the healers. Everyone knows that.”

“You think I’m helping the community? For _free_? Yuck. I need to take a shower. That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Maya asks.

“You know what, you’re right. I hate level five. And I _am_ insulted when a psycho carries on like that. Because the psycho in question is my husband, and suddenly he’s acting like he never met me before in his stupid life.”

Maya’s expression briefly flits through each stage of grief.

“What?” she says, hoarsely.

“You didn’t know? I guess I stopped telling people because everyone always responded with crap like ‘ _ew gross’_ and _‘that’s obscene, you’re both disgustingly old’_ and ‘ _he’s too good for you’_ and blah blah blah.”

Maya sits up straight and takes Marcus’ wrist.

“You’re married?” she asks, pointing from Marcus to Zed. “You two? But he’s a psycho and you’re not and that’s… that’s _lovely_.”

She launches herself forward, and throws her arms around Marcus’ neck.

“Weird response,” he says, frowning. “But okay.”

A few minutes later, Talon has eaten his fill, and the six of them – including Maya – are ushered outside.

“Oy, what a day,” Gaige says, as they make their way down the street.

“Krieg should be back soon,” Maya says, contentedly. “His conversations with his inner voice don’t usually last longer than a few hours.”

“Thank goodness,” Felicity says, although she doesn’t really understand the second half of what was just said.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Maya says. She pulls the chain and pendant from her pocket. “Flicktrap, can you please give this back to Zed?”

“Hey, she’s not a claptrap,” Gaige protests. “You can’t just ask her to do menial chores for you.”

“I’d be happy to,” Felicity counters.

She takes the – what was it called – the bubble world chip, and zooms back into the infirmary. The remaining occupants don’t notice her right away. Marcus is sitting on the chair next to the gurney, with his head on Zed’s chest. Zed has his eyes closed and one hand resting on the back of Marcus’ head.

“What happened?” Marcus asks, his voice somewhat muffled by the lead apron.

Felicity promptly panics. _What if Zed tells him the truth?_

“The usual,” Zed says.

“Moron.”

“Yeah.”

“How much longer do you have to work on those damn gold machines?”

Zed shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you said you were going to get better at figuring out your limits.”

“I’m workin’ on that.”

“This friend of yours,” Marcus says, haltingly. “The one who requested the gold vending machines. Are they worth all of this suffering?”

“Yeah,” Zed tells him.

“Special delivery,” Felicity announces with a bright I-just-came-into-the-room-just-now cheer. “Your chip, sir.”

Neither of the men make any significant movement, but Zed reaches out to her.

“Thanks,” he says. “Wow, all this blood everywhere is makin’ me hungry. You hungry?”

“She’s a robot,” Marcus points out.

“Oh, right.”

“Get better quickly,” Felicity tells Zed, and she turns on her wheel and leaves. For a moment, she can still hear their conversation.

“Did I introduce myself to you again?” Zed asks.

“Don’t _start_ ,” Marcus warns him. “Six times I had to ask you to marry me, but one little overdraw and you’re all ‘oh I’ve never seen that guy before in my life’.”

“Yeah. Heh. Sorry.”

_All right_ , Felicity thinks to herself. _The doctor is recovering, now we can finally test out this digistruction rod._

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
_to be continued in chapter 13_  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading + I appreciate you a lot


	13. Happiness (xii): Facade

* * *

* * *

Lilith props her head up on one elbow and frowns. Lucy’s voice accelerates, as if she can hear Lilith’s mood over the line.

“Esbiun might still honor the deal if we act swiftly,” she says. “Shall I contact him and offer up my chance at the vault in exchange for Professor Tannis?”

With a visit to Milun on the horizon, Lilith is especially tempted. The ghost would have to deliver his end of the bargain well before Lucy delivered hers. There is, apparently, little to lose.

“I thought you were going to use the vault to bring hope to Pandora,” she says, drily. “That’s a lot to sacrifice for the life of one woman.”

“Yes,” Lucy says, mournfully. And then she adds: “But from your perspective, it’s no sacrifice at all. Because you don’t believe I can succeed.”

“I believe you could get your powers back,” Lilith says, unnerved by Lucy’s insight. “But they wouldn’t be the global cure you want them to be.”

“Perhaps.”

There’s no point in sugar-coating the truth.

“Hope is just a word, Lucy. It might also be a feeling. But it’s not a person, and it’s not something you can become, even if you _are_ a siren.”

For a moment, Lucy is silent. Lilith senses she is upset. Lilith used to be better at this – at _people_.

“So it is decided then?” Lucy asks. “We accept Esbiun’s offer?”

Lilith smiles, but not happily. What she’s lost in social graces, she’s gained in strategic leadership. A generous deal is rarely as it first appears, but a vault is always a vault.

“We do not,” she pronounces. “I don’t know who Esbiun is or what he’s after but, if he wants the Vault of the Resurrector _this_ badly, we absolutely have to stop him getting it.”

“I see,” Lucy says slowly, audibly taken aback. “That wasn’t the answer I expected.”

“No deal, huh?” another voice sneers. “Bad decision. Now you’ve pissed me off.”

Lucy gives a little gasp, but Lilith is unmoved. Of _course_ Esbiun is listening in on their conversation. Damn unsecure echowaves.

“While you’re here, I have a message for you,” Lilith says blandly, as she recalls another detail of Lucy’s recent encounter with the ghost.

“The message is: your name is stupid,” Brick cuts in.

“How many people are on this line?” Lucy asks wearily. “This was supposed to be a private one-on-one between Commander Lilith and myself.”

“You ever heard of an acronym?” Esbiun jeers. “No? I’d tell you to look it up, but if you learn any new words your tiny brain might implode.”

“RAAAAGH!” Brick yells. “If I could I punch people through the echo system, you’d be dead right now!”

“The message is this,” Lilith says stolidly, without waiting for Brick to finish ranting. “Breaktrap is dead.”

It’s a lie. As far as she knows, Breaktrap is still in the workshop with Moxxi, watching children’s echonet shows. But it can’t hurt to mislead Esbiun.

“Dead?”

To his credit, Esbiun sounds almost upset.

“Yup. We killed her.”

“In fact, _I_ killed her,” Lucy chimes in. Lilith frowns.

“ _You_ killed Breaktrap?” Esbiun exclaims. “Dude! She was… you’re an idiot.”

“I’m also a murderer.”

“Lucy,” Lilith warns, but the younger siren ploughs on.

“I _also_ have the power to drop Sanctuary out of the sky at a moment’s notice.”

“That’s true,” Brick rumbles admiringly. “She does.”

“Brick!”

This is rapidly getting out of hand.

“I wouldn’t do that, of course,” Lucy continues. “Because I have lots of friends in Sanctuary. But, Esbiun, don’t you also cherish someone in that city? So I suppose if my dislike of you ever outweighed my love for my friends, _then_ I might destroy Sanctuary. Perhaps you should consider that before you decide to – how did you phrase it – before you ‘piss me off’.”

This has gotten all the way out of hand.

“ _Ang_ el!” Lilith snaps.

“She’s called Lucy now,” Brick says quietly.

“I wonder if your loved one can survive an impromptu thousand-foot drop onto the highlands cliffs?” Lucy muses. “Because some of my loved ones are sirens. With _wings_.”

“You’re an idiot,” Esbiun says again, palpably shaken, and then he disconnects from the line.

“That was BADASS, Luce,” Brick says, gleefully.

“No, it wasn’t,” Lilith says. “Lucy, what the hell was that?”

“You lied, so I thought I would lie as well,” Lucy explains. “I would never do anything to hurt your city, Commander. But I think I might be able to keep Esbiun in check, as long as I pretend to hold Sanctuary hostage.”

“Don’t do that again,” Lilith orders. “You and I have a shared goal – keeping that ghost out of the vault – so from now on, all your vault-and-Esbiun plans go through me first. Or Maya. Or Mordecai.”

“Or Brick?” Brick says, hopefully.

“Thin ice, buddy.”

“Understood, Commander,” Lucy says, and she sounds like she means it.

“I admit, it’s not a terrible plan,” Lilith concedes, thinking aloud. “It’s just… what has gotten _into_ you?”

* * *

* * *

After the conversation with Lilith ends, Lucy remains sitting cross-legged on her bed. For a moment she is motionless. Then she presses a button on her headset, and listens to Gaige’s echo message, for the fifth time.

Dimly, she is aware of a thousand pressing matters: the vault, Tannis, Lilith’s codified support, and the fact that threatening Sanctuary – even falsely – is a _terrible_ move for building any trust with its citizens. Angel attacked the city once before, under Jack’s command. As far as anyone knows Lucy might do the same.

However, these concerns are little more than background noise in Lucy’s mind, blowing in the metaphorical wind along with all sense of caution. She plays the echo message again.

_“Lucy, this is Gaige. You are my girlfriend now. Goodbye.”_

Was this what Flicktrap wanted her to delete? Why? _Is it a lie? A coded message?_

She has never been anyone’s girlfriend before. She’d never even considered, well, the idea of being with someone romantically. She had always been a tool first, a daughter last, and nothing else.

_This is a joke_ , Lucy tells herself. _A meaningless prank._

If it is intentional humour, then Gaige knows how she feels. There is nothing to be gained by responding.

However, there is also nothing to lose by responding.

Feeling unsettled and a little unhinged, Lucy calls Gaige. Ironically, there is no answer, and the echo system prompts her to leave a message.

“This is Lucy, formerly known as Angel,” she says, slowly and deliberately. “I accidentally listened to your message. Uh, I think this means I’m your girlfriend now. Goodbye.”

Before Lucy can really process the potential ramifications, or the sense of thrill dancing up her spine, she is interrupted by someone opening the front door. Lucy looks over to see the Firehawk, standing awkwardly on her doorstep.

“Lilith,” she exclaims, getting to her feet. “I wanted to apologise for my earlier words. You see—”

“Slow your roll, kid,” Eve’s voice cuts in from somewhere on the roof, as the business end of a rocket launcher slides into view right above Lilith’s head. “This bitch does an awful lot of walking for a siren.”

Lucy hesitates. The woman in the doorway looks up at the gun, expressionless, but clearly Lilith-coloured. If this is Esbiun, he’s gotten _good_. Too good.

Eve fires, and the blow passes harmlessly around the Lilith-imposter, as if the exploding rocket is made of wind.

“You’re not dead?” Eve asks uneasily. “Firehawk?”

_Now_ , Lilith-imposter is wearing an expression, and she looks absolutely furious. She draws a weapon of her own – a cutlass – and brandishes it at Eve.

“If hate is all you want,” she spits, “then hate is what you’ll get.”

“ _Flicktrap_?” Lucy asks in disbelief.

“Huhn,” Eve says. “Impressive.”

“You actually got the rod working,” Lucy realises. “Flicktrap, this is excellent.”

The rage vanishes from Flicktrap’s face – which is a perfect copy of Lilith’s face – and her arm drops to her side.

“Ta da!” she says, posing with her new siren-shaped body. “Look at all these limbs. And hair! I quite like having hair; I always expected that I would.”

Flicktrap kicks aside a tumbleweed, and Lucy backs up so she can enter the cottage.

“We can do this,” Lucy says, her earlier excitement forgotten in this fresh, new excitement. “The plan is coming together. You and I can be… Lilith.”

The robot smiles, and puts her hands on her hips. She is wearing the ship-summoning bracelet on her right wrist, and she has both cutlasses strapped to her back.

“Ready when you are,” Flicktrap says. “Oh, Eve, sorry about earlier. I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t expecting to be attacked, and I just...”

Eve jumps down from the overhang and pokes Flicktrap on the shoulder.

“Don’t mention it,” she replies. “Thanks for not rampaging my ass.”

* * *

* * *

Legs are cumbersome, but human legs are easier to navigate than the power suits Felicity has experienced before. She crosses the room easily, closing the distance between Lucy and herself. She identifies her moment of lag only by the brief flicker in her peripheral vision, and the sudden worried expression on Lucy’s face.

Felicity forces herself to focus on the task at hand, and pushes away the darkness that, only a moment ago, threatened to envelope her. She twists her mouth into a smile, and says: “get ready”. She does not say “ _there’s something wrong with me”_ or “ _I just saw a dark corner of my mind illuminated, and the constructor bot was there”_ or “ _Felicity Rampant is still alive, inside of me, and for a moment I felt her rage_ ”. She just smiles, and returns Lucy’s tiny nod, and throws the hologram around both of them.

The process for sharing a hologram looks complicated, but is actually easy. Felicity’s projection of Lilith momentarily shatters into a thousand tessellating pieces. The pieces dart through the air at a hundreds of different speeds to reassemble around Lucy.

Felicity’s AI core drops out of the air like a stone, and Lucy catches it with both hands.

“Be careful.”

“Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of this,” Felicity burbles. “I keep leaving bits of myself behind. You’re a little taller than Lilith. Let me adjust the dimensions.”

Lucy frowns.

“So now you’re just an AI core in a hologram,” she says. “I know it’s a fairly common practice for lower-level AIs, but is it really a safe practice for someone as complex and valuable as you?”

“Of course! I can digistruct whatever parts I need using this rod. It’s much more efficient than relying on standard hardware. And far less obnoxious than a claptrap chassis too, I might add.”

Lucy nods.

“There was no precedent for this when I was last… connected to the network, but I suppose things have changed,” she says grudgingly. “We’ll have to rig something up so I can carry the core without using my arms.”

“And then we can show Lilith,” Felicity adds. “The real Lilith. There’s something wonderful about having a new body, even one as unwieldy as this.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Not that I have anything against humans,” Felicity continues. “Captain Zarpedon was a human, you know. I’m rambling. But look at us! I’ve got you inside me. I’m a vehicle again!”

Lucy laughs, the warmth returning to her voice in full force.

“Not quite. But you _are_ amazing.”

“Aren’t I? Oh, and Lucy?”

“Yes?”

“When you rebuilt me – when you reassembled me from scrap – you are quite sure you brought me back correctly, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure.”

“Nothing went wrong during the process?”

“Of course not. Is everything okay, Flicktrap?”

Felicity smiles. Lilith doesn’t smile this much; good leaders rarely seem to smile. But moving her newfound mouth is enjoyable, and it drowns out the dull roar of the constructor lurking inside her head.

“Everything is just fine!”

* * *

* * *

“Lucy? What did you want to show me?” Lilith asks. She peers into the dim living room of Lucy’s’ cottage, and is astonished at what she sees.

“It’s… you,” Mordecai says quietly. He steps forward to stand next to Lilith.

“A perfect copy of you,” Maya remarks, from just behind them.

The clone raises an arm and waves nervously.

“It’s actually me,” she says, with Flicktrap’s distinct voice. “I upgraded myself to look like you. What do you think?”

Flicktrap does a slow pirouette on the spot. A quiet voice at the back of Lilith’s mind says _wow, my thighs look super muscular from the back; I’m hot!_

“You’re too tall,” Brick rumbles. “You don’t gotta change Lilith’s height. She’s just fine as the short-ass she is.”

“You brought… everyone,” Flicktrap comments. She flicks on a lamp, illuminating the rest of Lilith’s entourage. “We only asked to speak with the Commander. Why are the others here?”

Lilith snorts.

“You know, I asked them same question.”

“We’re here because we’re her best friends!” Brick says proudly, jerking both thumbs towards his chest.

“I’m here to keep an eye on Flicktrap,” Maya says, icily. She has not deigned to elaborate on this explanation, and Lilith trusts her enough not to push the issue.

“And I’m here because you said it was a tech thing,” Karima says calmly, from somewhere in the sea of vault hunters.

“Now tell us why you look like me,” Lilith orders. “Because one copycat is more than enough to worry about, believe me.”

“Because,” Felicity says dramatically, “a siren collar only has enslavement capacity when applied to a powered siren. On an average person, it’s just an accessory.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the research,” Karima says crisply.

And suddenly, Lilith understands. She feels a rush of affection and exasperation for the little robot.

“Oh, I get it. Look killer, I appreciate your efforts, but this won’t work. A quality heads-up-display is gonna show you’re not a siren.”

For a moment, Flicktrap’s expression goes completely blank. It’s discomfiting for Lilith to see her own eyes so vacant. Then she seems to snap out of it, and speaks again.

“This isn’t just an AI with a hologram, Commander,” she says, now speaking in Lucy’s voice. “I’m in here too.”

“Whoa,” says Brick. “Creepy.”

“Yeah, creepy,” Mordecai agrees.

“Unnerving,” Maya adds.

Karima, on the other hand, lights up like a Mercenary Day tree.

“Oh, the AI skinsuit approach,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to see this in real life. How does it work? Are you wearing her like a shield? Let me get out my notebook.”

“Karima,” Lilith says, tiredly. 

“Waitaminute waitaminute,” Mordecai says, holding up his hand. “This could work, Lil. Lucy can’t be hurt by the collar either.”

_Excellent,_ Lilith thinks bitterly. _Now two of my three most sensible Raiders are acting like idiots._

“That’s your plan?” she asks darkly. “We send two new kids into the mouth of the Sleets, and hope Tannis manages to run away before Milun figures it out and murders them?”

“I’m not a kid,” Flicktrap says indignantly.

“Neither am I,” Lucy says. “In fact, I’m older than Flicktrap.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Flicktrap demands.

“I was born well before you were created.”

“I was _created_ as a young adult! You were born as a baby!”

Neither of them are controlling the hologram now. Clone-Lilith stands like a haunted doll, with two quarrelling voices emanating from within her.

“Enough. It’s a suicide mission,” Lilith says, with finality.

Everyone falls silent. The room is quiet enough that Lilith can hear the sounds of Talon grooming his toes, and the distant noise of Gaige, who insisted on leaning against the mailbox sobbing instead of coming into the cottage. Gaige has not offered an explanation for her strange behaviour, and past experience has taught Lilith not to ask.

“It’s not _exactly_ a suicide mission,” Maya says slowly.

“Oh god, please don’t make it three out of three,” Lilith mutters.

“It’s more like… the start of a plan.”

“Huh,” Mordecai says thoughtfully. “Once Milun thinks he’s got you collared, he’s not going to be expecting any teleporting visitors.”

“Right,” Maya agrees. “With a small team and phasewalk, we could have the back-up we needed to cover them if anything goes wrong.”

Damn it, she’s right. They’re all right. Lilith combs a hand through her hair, thinking hard.

“Transport,” she says. “Phasewalk alone won’t cover the distance between the Thousand Cuts South Facility and the nearest safe base. I’ll need either eridium, or a ship.”

“No eridium,” Mordecai reminds Lilith.

“Absolutely no eridium,” Lucy says abruptly. “I spent my teen years up to my eyeballs in that filth. It does things that not even your Dr Zed can fix.”

“Like what?” Lilith asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Well, let me just say this. Every time you vaporised an enemy? You also vaporised a bit of yourself. If you keep using, all your organs will end up much smaller than they should be.” 

“Ew. Transport it is,” Lilith says promptly. “We don’t have many vehicles, but I’m sure I can wring another favour out of the magpies.”

“Oh, I have an idea,” Flicktrap says.

She walks towards Lilith. That is to say, the clone body walks towards Lilith, revealing leaving Lucy still standing in place behind it. After a beat, Lucy is yanked along behind the AI, pulled by a wire rope looped around her wrist.

“We _have_ to stop doing that,” Lucy sputters.

“Sorry,” Flicktrap says. “But see this cuff I’m wearing? It belonged to Bree’s grandmother.”

“Who is Bree?” Maya asks.

“Aubrey Callahan III,” Brick replies. “You met her during your adventures in Oasis.”

“Ah.”

“Any _way_ ,” Flicktrap chirps, “this is called the _Ship Summoner_. It says it requires two captains in order to work. I can activate half of it, and I thought perhaps one of you could help me out.”

“Sounds like a Captain Blade special,” Karima says. “He created some incredible collaborative artefacts before he died.”

Lilith feels uneasy.

“I don’t think any of us count as a captain, killer.”

“There’s no harm in trying,” Flicktrap counters. “Brick? You’re technically a king. Press this button with me.”

“Heck yeah!” Brick says, flexing his index finger. “This is gonna be royally badass, heh.”

“On three. O—”

“Three!”

Brick and Flicktrap push the button together. Nothing happens: the lit half lights up, and the rest remains static. Brick mashes his finger repeatedly against the plastic.

“It’s broken.”

“It’s _going_ to be broken,” Flicktrap replies. “I suppose a king is a different kind of leader.”

“I would like to p-press the button,” Karima says, raising her hand. “I’m just an administrator, b-but—”

“Already on my way,” Flicktrap says, moving across the room with Lucy trailing behind her. “Here.”

Flicktrap and Karima press the button. Nothing happens.

“Commander Lilith? It’s your turn.”

Lilith looks at the fake, smiling version of her own face, and folds her arms.

“I’m not doing it,” she says flatly. “Ask Maya.”

“I’m not sure I understand, but I will comply. Maya?”

Maya and Flicktrap press the button, and again, nothing happens.

“No successes,” Felicity says morosely. “Well, it was a long shot anyway. Thank you for indulging me.”

“Wait,” Mordecai says. “What about Talon? He’s like, the leader of pigeons.”

“I don’t…” Maya says, and then hesitates, picking out her words carefully, “…I don’t think… birds have… the same feudal structures as people.”

“Point taken.”

“If there are no further suggestions,” Lilith says, eyeing Flicktrap, “then I will call the magpies and organise transport and figure out a team. Maya, you’re in charge of Sanctuary while we’re on this mission. Brick, Mordecai, you’re with Maya. Lucy and Flicktrap, get your hologram coordinated and sit tight.”

“There are still several hours before the meeting with Milun is scheduled,” Flicktrap says. “Is there anything else we can do to help?”

Lilith considers this for a moment.

“Karima, do you have the echo recordings that Axton dropped off?” she asks.

“Yes. I’ll hand them over to the g-girls.”

“Good. Flicktrap, if you need to kill time, you can listen to those on the off-chance there’s some valuable information.”

“In a random selection of recordings? Is that likely?”

“It’s been known to happen, from time to time. Good luck.”

Lilith glances at the wrist cuff again, then realises Lucy is staring at her with round, too-canny eyes. Lilith glares back, before turning on her heel and ushering the gaggle of Raiders out of the cottage.

She doesn’t need her leadership style criticised by a goddamn piece of jewellery.

* * *

* * *

Agthri waves a hand through the air, leaving a trail of tiny bubbles in its wake. Lucy and Flicktrap move the cutlass as one, popping each bubble in record time.

“We’re really getting the hang of this,” Flicktrap says excitedly, in a passable imitation of Lilith’s voice. “With my enthusiasm and experience, and your expansive knowledge of… nearly everything, we can definitely pull this off.”

Lucy feels a rush of fondness for her friend. They’re going on a mission, together. Like proper vault hunters.

“I feel like I’m talking to the real Firehawk,” Agthri agrees. “And I am happy to see Lucy enjoying a normal hobby.”

“Stabbing things is a normal hobby?” Flicktrap asks.

“It is on Pandora,” Lucy informs her, ruefully. “And it is a much nicer hobby than living in a cage and charging a vault key.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“When she first came back to life,” Agthri continues, “Lucy used to spend her leisure time crying, watching the surveillance tapes of her own death, or saying curse-words and giggling.”

Lucy can _feel_ Flicktrap recoil in horror. Her good mood vanishes.

“Recovery isn’t always pretty,” she says coldly. “My coping mechanisms have improved since then.”

“Of course they have,” Flicktrap says soothingly. “You certainly don’t have, for example, an embodiment of your past self living inside your brain. Because nobody has that. Because that would be a terrible coping mechanism. Ahaha!”

“Er… right,” Lucy says worriedly. “That’s the third strange thing you’ve said in an hour. Are you okay?”

“Better than fine! Also I don’t want to talk about it!”

Lucy frowns. Her loader, apparently, does not share her concern.

“We are Crimson Raiders now,” Agthri says dramatically. “Our coping mechanisms are saving people.”

That makes Lucy smile again.

“Exactly,” she says. “Anyway, I believe we should switch to firearm training. Lilith preferentially uses elemental semiautomatic weapons. The cutlasses will blow our cover, and are only to be used as a last resort.”

“Ah yes, guns. The instruments of mass murder,” Flicktrap says disapprovingly.

Lucy loads up the cheap Maliwan she found under the cottage sink. Agthri moves to one side, and gestures towards the targets they’ve set up on a grassy area a thousand yards away.

“We might have to start with something closer,” Lucy says apologetically. Flicktrap casually takes aim and fires, piercing the target right through the middle.

“Wow,” Agthri and Lucy say in unison.

“It seems handheld guns are just like the Drakensburg artilleries,” Flicktrap murmurs. “Just pointing and shooting. Easy. What’s next?”

Instead of replying, Agthri looks past them.

“You have a visitor,” he says.

“Is it Eve?” Flicktrap asks wearily, as she and Lucy turn their shared head.

There, peering around the side of the cottage, is Gaige. She’s wearing clean, unstained clothes, adorned with only minimal amounts of engineering tools. Her hair is drawn into two neat pigtails. Her face looks freshly scrubbed, although her eyes are red-rimmed.

“You two are really doing the Lilith thing, huh?” Gaige calls nervously. “That’s cool. I… I… I can come back some other time.”

Lucy has absolutely no idea how to handle this. It was easy to be bold when Gaige was at the other end of an echo line.

“Flicktrap,” she says, very quietly, “please do not make this weird.”

Lucy feels a mild zap of static as Flicktrap disengages and walks away from her. To an onlooker, it must appear as if Lucy is being vertically birthed by the side of a slightly-too-tall Lilith clone.

“That was weird,” Lucy hisses between her teeth.

Gaige takes several steps towards them. Or rather, Deathtrap shoves Gaige a few steps towards them.

“I just got your message,” Gaige says, staring at Lucy. “And that means you got mine. So I was wondering, does this mean we’re…”

“Only if you want to be…” Lucy says, averting her eyes. Gaige is the prettiest person she’s ever seen. And she’s seen _everyone_.

“She got your message?” Flicktrap interjects, from the other end of the rope. “But I asked her to delete that. Lucy, what is going on?”

“Hell YES!” Gaige yells. She punches the air and sprints towards them. Lucy feels a surge of emotion – anticipation and joy and doubt and fear – that is so overwhelming she almost wants to flee. But she is anchored, emotionally and physically, by Flicktrap’s presence.

Gaige arrives and jumps _at_ Lucy. In a feat of pure dumb reflex, Lucy manages to both catch her _and_ stay upright. Gaige kisses Lucy’s face: her forehead, her nose, her cheek.

“Ah,” Flicktrap says, knowingly. “ _Romance_.”

* * *

* * *

“It _is_ romance, right?” Felicity asks Agthri, who nods. “Sometimes I struggle to distinguish romantic from platonic. Is it because I spend so much time with Brick? I like to think it’s because of Brick, and not because of Keith.”

The bigger robot shrugs. The two humans ignore her completely. Gaige has finally stopped trying to climb Lucy like a tree, and is now holding both of her hands.

“You’re wearing your vault hunting outfit,” Lucy says, her voice dreamy and strange.

“Yes!” Gaige replies. “Well, kind of. I outgrew those clothes, but I tried to re-create the look. I figure it’s kind of dashing, you know?”

“I _do_ know. But… oh no, I’ve been wearing these clothes for a week straight. Wait here, and I’ll change into my other outfit.”

“You’ve got two outfits?” Gaige asks, tilting her head. “Two, total?”

“Two, and a wrap made out of Mordecai’s red fabric.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t count,” Gaige says. “Well, my first act as your girlfriend is to…”

Gaige stumbles to a halt, her eyes drifting from Lucy to Felicity and then to the length of rope keeping them uncomfortably close.

“We have to stay connected, I’m afraid,” Felicity tells her. “Lucy insists upon it.”

“If there’s any consequence for extended exposure to the lag, we want to know about it before we land in Sleet territory.”

“Hey, no big deal,” Gaige says, raising her hands. “I understand the bond between a girl and her robot better than anyone.”

“Flicktrap is her own robot,” Lucy says gently, looking only at Gaige.

“Exactly!” Felicity agrees. “And I’ve no desire to intrude on the two of you. Perhaps there’s some sort of portable barrier we could use to create modicum of privacy?”

“Wait,” Gaige says, putting one hand on Lucy’s face. “Do you _want_ to spend time with me right now? You’ve got your first ever Crimson Raider mission in a couple of hours. I don’t wanna be all needy. I’m not that kind of girl… at least, not anymore.”

Both of them are blushing. Felicity feels a warmth deep in her metaphorical heart. Humans are so cute sometimes. They may not be the dramatic, pining-spangled affair Felicity is familiar with, but they are together and happy.

“Anymore?” Lucy asks. “Did someone tell you that you were too needy?”

A dark shadow flits across Gaige’s visage, before she smiles sunnily again.

“Who cares about that now?” she says lightly.

“Huhn,” Lucy says, frowning.

“A door!” Felicity exclaims. “A door is the perfect privacy screen. Lucy, you can sit just inside the cottage, and I’ll sit on the porch outside. We won’t have much mobility, but we’ll be out of each other’s of the way.”

Lucy is horrified.

“I’m not going to make you sit on the porch like a… a…”

“…a non-Brick-owned dog,” Gaige finishes. “You’re a person.”

“I’m a person who has agreed to it,” Felicity argues. “I’ll listen to those echo recordings, and mentally prepare for the coming altercation. Now go, go!”

The humans move indoors with minimal grumbling. As soon as the door is closed, however, Lucy calls her.

“You could try meditating,” she says cryptically. “It might help with… whatever it is you’re not telling me.”

“I’m an AI,” Felicity reminds her. _And I’m pretty sure I’m beyond help_ , she thinks. The constructor bot is sleeping, for now. Who knows what will happen if it starts making loaders?

“Yes, but… look, I can control my lag with meditation.”

“What?”

“I wanted to keep it a secret until I was satisfied with my progress,” Lucy tells her, “but it sounds like you might need to hear it now. Mindfulness offers tremendous control over one’s mental and physical form. So each time I meditate, I can incrementally alter the timespan of my lag. With repeated sessions over time, I will eventually be able to reduce my lag to nothing.”

“Really? You can _do_ that?” Felicity asks, shocked and impressed. “That’s great news. Just think, one day you and I and Agthri will be able to sit right next to each other and we’ll all be conscious.”

Lucy laughs.

“Yes,” she says. “But for now… just promise me you’re not planning your revenge on Athena.”

“I promise,” Flicktrap says.

She’s already planned it.

* * *

* * *

“Of course you can use the buzzard,” Timothy says. “I already offered to take you there myself, remember?”

“And I turned you down,” Lilith says. “But circumstances have changed, and we’d be grateful for your help.”

“I’m in. But Commander?”

“Yes, killer?”

“The magpies need money to stay afloat, and the Pickle siblings need jobs to keep them out of trouble. I can’t promise any more favours after this.”

Lilith considers her response. What little funding the Raiders have is gobbled up paying for parts, power, and food. They don’t have the assets to hire common mercenaries, let alone high-calibre thieves. They can’t milk the cash cow that is Mister Torgue forever. But the magpies' expertise is hugely beneficial, and Lilith needs to keep them around for as long as possible.

“So what you’re saying is, you think you’ve repaid us for that time Krieg fixed your face.”

Timothy falters, and Lilith almost regrets her choice of words.

“I’ll see if I can find a job close enough – and that pays well enough – that we can keep helping you pro bono,” he says reluctantly. “But again, I can’t promise anything.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lilith answers. “Oops, someone’s calling me. I’ll meet you at the Overlook airstrip in two hours.”

The landscape has changed since Hyperion occupation. Sometimes for the worse, like the Bunker, which floated out to sea after a failed Slab demolition campaign. And some for the better, like Overlook, which is ratcheting up its amenities count as fast as Karima can sign paperwork.

“Okay,” Timothy replies, sounding thoroughly demoralised.

He hangs up, and Lilith presses a button on her headset.

“Eve,” she says wearily. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

* * *

* * *

Gaige briefly leaves, and comes back with armfuls of clothes.

“I started importing these after Tannis broke the quick-change station,” she explains. “Everything here is still new with tags, so just pick out whatever you want.”

Lucy gazes around the room, feeling overwhelmed. She’s never had so many options in her life.

“Anything is fine,” she says. “Whatever is cheapest, most replaceable, or your least favourite.”

Gaige rolls her eyes and smiles.

“Okay, I’ll choose for you. Hm. The prettiest dress, obviously. The jeans with stars on them. The ‘fuck off’ shirt, definitely. Is that too much punk stuff? Oh here’s a beige jumpsuit, that’s not punk, you can have that. Oh, pyjamas. Here, these ones have matching slippers! And they’re patterned with ducks! Ducks are almost the same as pigeons, right?”

Gaige tosses each article of clothing onto the couch as she speaks, then tilts her head and examines the pile critically.

“That’s not enough,” she says. “What else do you want, girlfriend?”

Lucy still feels choked up, but that last word is encouraging.

“I want you to hold my hand?”

Gaige grins and bounds over to the area just inside the door, where Lucy is tethered by a short length of rope that leads outside to Flicktrap.

“Metal hand or flesh hand?”

“Either is fine.”

The mechromancer sits down next to her. Lucy reaches out and entwines their fingers. She’d always hated Jack touching her, but touching another human feels good. Solid. Safe. Lucy feels her face heat up.

“You know,” Gaige says, “when I heard you were coming to Sanctuary, I downgraded my arm to an analogue model. It still synchronises with Deathtrap of course, but all the computerised parts are in him, not in me. I did that because I figured I would want to hang out with you.”

“You thought about me?” Lucy asks. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. She doesn’t know how to feel about any of this, except unstable and excited and overwhelmed.

“Well, I figured you’d be pretty lonely,” Gaige says. “I realised I was wrong when you arrived with an entourage.”

Lucy tries to adjust her hair with her free hand, only to have the gesture pulled short by the rope.

“I never expected to find Eve and Agthri,” she says softly. “I just woke up and they were there, looking after me. Their presence didn’t – and won’t – change my plans, but I’m even more determined to fix the damage Jack did, because of them. They’re precious to me. Like my First Four vault hunters.”

Gaige drums her metal fingers against the floor.

“What about Flicktrap?”

Lucy hesitates, as her brain tries to quantify some highly qualitative feelings. Finally, she just tells the truth.

“I stole her from Jack. I cannot really describe how important she is, but she’s like a little sister to me.”

“You’re doing the whole ‘found family’ thing, huh?” Gaige asks, smiling softly. “Good for you.”

“We’re not really doing anything,” Lucy says ruefully. “She doesn’t know. I haven’t told her.”

“You should.”

“I should.”

* * *

* * *

Felicity quickly grows tired of watching Agthri and Deathtrap cavort around the grass. She turns her attention to the pile of echo recordings, organises them according to recency, and decides to listen to the oldest first. She regrets her decision immediately when she hears Jack’s voice, speaking to a much younger version of Lucy.

> **Jack:** “Okay, any candidates today, Angel?”
> 
> **Angel:** “There are five treasure hunters who arrived on a shuttle several hours ago. They are currently on a bus to—”
> 
> **Jack:** “ _How_ many treasure hunters?”
> 
> **Angel:** “I’m sorry, sir.”
> 
> **Jack:** “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t choose the fifth guy, you’re not networked into his heads-up display, and if you bring him up one more time I am going to have him killed the first chance I get!”
> 
> **Angel:** “I’m sorry, sir.”
> 
> **Jack:** “Let’s try this again from the top.”
> 
> **Jack:** “Okay, any candidates today, Angel?”
> 
> **Angel:** “There are… four treasure hunters who arrived on a shuttle several hours ago. They are currently on a bus to Fyrestone.”

“Ugh,” Felicity says. “I hope he’s rotting in a stereotypical monotheistic hell.”

The constructor in her mind warbles in agreement. Felicity ignores it, and listens to the next recording.

> **Mordecai:** “Hey… uh… big guy? What’s your name? I forgot your name.”
> 
> **Brick** : “Brick.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “Cool, I don’t care. Just stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”
> 
> **Brick:** “Uh...”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “You know what? I’m just gonna leave now. Gonna go hang out with the guy who keeps talking about Christmas. Have fun being creepy on your own.”

“You two were just getting to know each other? That must have been a long time ago,” Felicity says, smiling.

The next recording features a completely unfamiliar voice:

> **Ernest: “** Ernest Whitting’s log, day sixteen. My monster hunt has brought me to Wayward Pass. The area is still littered with debris from the Robot Revolution. The clean-up crews are afraid to come here; they keep talking about some kind of abominable creature roaming around the mountains. The stories are strange. Half the locals say the creature is shaped like a man, the other half say it’s a pulsating tower of half-formed flesh. I figure it could be something like a werewolf, except replace the ‘wolf’ part with ‘eldritch horror’. Wereldritchhorror. Not my preferred kind of game, but I try to keep myself busy since Lucky died.”

Felicity shrugs and moves to the next tape. Pandora is full of nothing _but_ terrible life forms and the legends of even more upsettingly terrible lifeforms. Also, shrugging is a neat way to express oneself. So much disdain packed into so simple a gesture.

> **Moxxi:** “See you ‘round, Roland, Brick, Lil… Lilith—”
> 
> **Lilith:** “My eyes are up here.”
> 
> **Moxxi:** “—it’s been fun watching you fight in my Underdome, but now I think it’s time to take my new boyfriend for a spin. Tiger growl.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “Don’t mind if I do. Hehehehe.”
> 
> **Roland:** “Mordecai, are you sure about this?”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “Hell yeah I’m sure! Bloodwing, give me five!”
> 
> **Brick:** “That wasn’t five, that was him headbutting your hand.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “Whatever, you’re just jealous. Later, losers.”
> 
> **Moxxi:** “Bye bye sugars.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “Eyes are still up here, Moxxi.”

For a moment, Felicity hesitates. She’s heard Roland’s voice before, when the Sanctuary radio plays pre-recorded Raiders advertisements, but it’s still strange to hear him in this context. _The man who built the Crimson Raiders_ , she thinks sombrely, _now nothing more than a few recordings and a picture on the recruitment flyers._

She plays the next tape.

> **Jack:** “Hahahah, the look on that psycho kid’s face when I cut off his arms with his own axe. He was making this weird whining noise with his pathetic little mouth the whole time. I mean, what kind of a coward can’t even scream properly.”
> 
> **Nisha:** “Please tell me you got it on video. I hate to miss a good dismembering.”
> 
> **Jack:** “Of course, babe. In hindsight though, not my proudest moment. My grandma used to hack people up with buzz-saws. I kinda felt like I was channelling her.”
> 
> **Nisha:** “Don’t worry. You’re nothing like your grandma and I’m nothing like my mom. Know how I know? ‘Cause the people we hurt aren’t our kids.”
> 
> **Jack:** “Yeah… yeah! If we ever have kids, I’d treat them right.”
> 
> **Nisha:** “And since we’re childless, we can torture with impunity.”
> 
> **Nisha:** “Also your AI assistant called earlier. What was the stupid name you gave that thing? Angel?”
> 
> **Jack:** “Wait, Angel called you? She’s not supposed to call you. I’ll talk to her.”
> 
> **Nisha:** “She said Wilhelm’s new drones are ready.”
> 
> **Wilhelm:** “Good! I was getting tired of Wolf and Saint.”
> 
> **Jack:** “Uh, buddy? How long have you been standing there? We’ve been having a _lot_ of sex.”
> 
> **Wilhelm:** “Didn’t notice. Too busy thinking about my new drones.”

“Ah, Wilhelm,” Felicity murmurs. “I didn’t think anything could make me feel sorry for you, but here we are.”

Moving swiftly along, she plays the next recording.

> **Tannis:** “You’re right, of course. The Warrior is just a story. But unfortunately, my research has lead me to the conclusion that we are all ‘just stories’, spoken into life by the Narrator many millennia ago.
> 
> **Lilith:** “Wait, you’re saying the Narrator is real? That one single Eridian created everything?”
> 
> **Tannis:** “The Narrator wasn’t an Eridian, Lilith. He was an Eridian god.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “Didn’t he fall in love with a human and then die?”
> 
> **Tannis:** “Yes, he did. God is dead. He left behind his half-human children, and they had quarter-human babies and so forth. The line is now so watered down that his descendants only have a few limited superhuman abilities.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “What kind of abilities?”
> 
> **Tannis:** “Precognitive hallucinations. Oh, and the Obsidian Aftermath.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “What does that do?”
> 
> **Tannis:** “It ends the whole story.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “That sounds… bad.”
> 
> **Tannis:** “It _is_ bad. But fascinating! Something would have to go very, very wrong for it to be enacted.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “So there’s a demi-demi-demi-demi-demi-god out there with enough power to end the universe as we know it? Great. How do we find them?”
> 
> **Tannis:** “He’ll find you.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “What? Wait. Waaaaait. You’re not talking about M—”
> 
> **Tannis:** “I am contractually obliged not to say anything.”
> 
> **Lilith:** “But he’s just a—”
> 
> **Tannis:** “It’s a very threatening contract, Lilith.”

The more Felicity learns about the universe, the more she wishes she’d remained ignorant. She moves to the next echo recording.

> **Hammerlock:** “Greetings, fellow scientists and science enthusiasts. I will be giving today’s lecture on Pandoran psychos, filling in for my esteemed peer Professor Tannis. I will be assisted by one of our most talented psycho individuals, Tiny Tina!
> 
> **Tina:** “Imma do the powerpoint presentation!”
> 
> **Hammerlock:** “Let’s start with a synopsis of the concept of psycho magic. Next slide please, assistant professor Tina.”
> 
> **Tina:** “Aw what? Someone replaced the powerpoint with a series of explosions? KA-BOOM!”
> 
> **Hammerlock:** “Well said. Demolitions expertise is one form of psycho magic, although Tina is considered a savant even among her compatriots. Other forms of psycho magic include: exceptional talent in the acquiring and cooking of meat, buzz-axe generation, healing, necromancy, techromancy, and the ‘bubble world’ phenomenon.
> 
> **Audience member:** [indistinct muttering]
> 
> **Hammerlock:** Techromancy is the enchantment of machines. Enchanted machines perform specific psycho-adjacent tasks without needing to comply with the laws of physics or indeed, mathematics. Not to be confused with mechromancy, which is a type of elite robotic engineering pioneered by a young Vault Hunter named Gaige.
> 
> **Audience member:** [indistinct muttering]
> 
> **Hammerlock:** “An excellent question. Psycho magic is different from siren powers in a number of ways. There are only six individuals with siren powers, all heavily tattooed, and each individual has unique-yet-remarkable abilities. Contrastingly, psycho magic is limited to the forms I listed a moment ago, more than half of the psycho population wields at least one form of magic – if not more – and these individuals have no shared physical characteristic akin to the siren tattoos.”
> 
> **Audience member:** [indistinct muttering]
> 
> **Hammerlock:** “Exactly, or as I like to put it, never the twain shall meet. There has never been a psycho siren, and there likely never will be. Any other questions?”
> 
> **Tina:** “Can I blow up the auditorium now?”

“So that’s the girl whom everyone misses,” Felicity says to herself, while reaching for another echo tape. “She sounds like fun, in a destructive kind of way.”

> **Mordecai:** “So how are things?”
> 
> **Brick:** “The Slabs are stupid as always. Some of ‘em were upset because they wanted to hang the Sheriff’s corpse in Slab Town, but they couldn’t find her body. But then Salvador gave ‘em her hat, which he was keeping as a trophy, so…”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “Sounds like you got a lot of friends around you. That’s great.”
> 
> **Brick:** “Maybe, but I miss Lilith. I can’t go back until she’s safe!”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “I miss Lilith too. At least I think I do. Can’t really feel anything except missing Roland and Bloodwing right now.”
> 
> **Brick:** “I know what you mean.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “I should be used to feeling this alone. Even when I was with Moxxi, I was alone. She never understood me. She never cared about birds, and she was so rude to Bloodwing all the time.”
> 
> **Brick:** “Yeah, I remember.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “After Moxxi dumped me, I was out in the Tundra for years on my own. I mean, Blood used to put a blanket over me when I got fall-down drunk, and Tina kept sending me videos of things exploding, but I was isolated from all other human adults.”
> 
> **Brick:** “I’m sorry.”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “One time I passed out for an entire week. Straight after you called, I just blacked out until you called again.”
> 
> **Brick:** “Speaking of blacking out, did you drink all of these bottles today?”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “’Cause you called me every week. Everybody else forgot about me out there, but not you. I appreciated that, man.”
> 
> **Brick:** “I wanted to talk to you every week. Seriously though, how are you even conscious right now?”
> 
> **Mordecai:** “I guess one good thing came out of this after all.”

“Oh, my sweet humans,” Felicity says fondly.

_HATE_ , seethes Felicity Rampant.

“Shut up,” Felicity replies aloud.

Maybe she should try that meditation thing that Lucy mentioned. It might be worth a shot, in any case.

Felicity squares her shoulders, shuts off her visual feed, and clears her mind. For several moments, she feels and sees nothing. The constructor bot is reduced to a quiet, ignorable shadow. _Meditation is easy_ , Felicity thinks. And then she vanishes even that simple revelation, submerging herself into the void of thoughtlessness.

And then she drifts. And then, suddenly, emerges. Felicity finds herself overlooking a tree-riddled grassland, under an unfamiliar silver sky.

Felicity opens her mouth to say “ _is this it? Is this what meditation looks like?”_ , but all that comes out is: “This?”

Words appear, unbidden and unspoken inside her head. They say <ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>.

There’s a password for mindfulness? Lucy should have mentioned it. Felicity opens her mouth to say “ _commence meditation_ ”, but nothing comes out. The words scatter into meaningless letters inside her mind.

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

Felicity tries to think. She’s seen the silver sky before, once. Something upsetting happened here. People died, maybe?

“I”, Felicity replies, her throat refusing to supply the subsequent “ _don’t_ ” and “ _know_ ”.

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

The trunks of the trees are moss-coloured. The flowers vary from their stalks in shade, but not hue. Save for the sky, everything is too green.

Felicity looks down. Her feet look human, but they are blurry and no longer resemble Lilith’s feet. There are two other humans on the horizon. They are horizontal and still. They are dead.

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

“In mind,” says Felicity, which of course means “ _Oh goody, I’m in Breaktrap’s mind”._ How naïve of her to expect that something would go normally for once. “Uh… hint?”

<PASSWORD HINT: PARENTAL FIGURE>

Thank goodness, the devil computer has learned the word ‘hint’. But what an unfortunate password. Felicity looks more closely at the corpse to her left. Curiously, it seems to fluctuate under scrutiny, shifting from a short fat human, to a tall muscular human, to a Claptrap unit, to a collection of power-suit limbs, and then back to a human with cyborg legs.

“This?” Felicity asks, pointing at it.

<IDENTIFIED PARENTAL FIGURE #1, MOTHER>

<UNLOCKED NEW PASSWORD HINT>

<PASSWORD HINT HINT: OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE>

The fact that robots don’t have parents seems like the least of Felicity’s worries right now. She turns to the other body, which manages to convey the remains of a violent gory death despite heavy pixellation. It, too, fluctuates under scrutiny.

“This?”

<IDENTIFIED PARENTAL FIGURE #2, FATHER>

<PASSWORD HINT HINT: OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE>

Felicity points back at the first body.

“This?”

<IDENTIFIED PARENTAL FIGURE #1, MOTHER>

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

Felicity is very much done with this hallucination.

“Mother?”

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

“Father.”

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

Felicity looks around in vain. For the first time, she notices the dozens of nightmarish stick-figures moving in the background, camouflaged against the greenery. They are faceless, and scribble-like, and yet Felicity can feel the violent intent radiating from them. _Bandits. Murderers._ They are undoubtedly the reason Breaktrap’s parental figures are corpses.

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

Felicity shrugs. This question has no answer. Breaktrap’s mind is a trainwreck, and nothing can fix it.

<ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD>

<PASSWORD HINT HINT: OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE>

“Stop.”

<NO!>

<IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE! IDENTIFY OTHER PARENTAL FIGURE!>

Something is wrong. Felicity feels sick. As if someone’s plugged her into an incompatible part. As if she’s been corroded inside.

She opens her mouth and screams.

* * *

* * *

_to be continued in chapter 14_


	14. Happiness (xiii): The Old Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _Warning: the contents of this chapter include death, suicide, and canon character death. also the usual canon-typical violence._   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

Lilith is preparing to board the newest magpie buzzard when she feels a tug at her trouser leg.

“I wanna come,” Claptrap informs her.

“No,” Lilith says bluntly.

“C’mon, I’m tough.”

“Sure you are.”

Claptrap whirls around in front of her angrily.

“I’ll have you know that the Fragtrap project went through _dozens_ of Claptrap units. And most of ‘em were a lot more expensive and better-equipped than I was. And Jack even subjected some of them to slag experimentation, in the hope that they’d get elemental powers and be able to stand up to the vault-hunter.exe program. But every single one of those other Claptraps died horrible early deaths, until he got to me. I survived when my peers could not. _That’s_ how tough I am. Plus, I’m resilient, I’m unique, I’m your most versatile Vault Hunter!”

“You are too easily distracted,” Lilith tells him, “and your Fragtrap abilities are little more than chaotic luck.”

“But that’s just _it_ ,” Claptrap bleats. “I’m _lucky_. If you take me with you, I’ll make the whole mission lucky.”

“No.”

“Aw, _please_. Doppleganger is going and Athena is going. This will be the closest I’ll ever come to doing another mission with my old team.”

Lilith sighs. Claptrap is an endling, the last of his kind. If he is killed, it will be a loss to science and the digital ecosystem. But as a Raider, his usefulness is limited, and this conversation is taking too long.

“Fine–”

“Woohoo!” Claptrap says, and starts to do a little dance.

“–just don’t do anything stupid.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy boards the buzzard, wearing Flicktrap’s Lilith hologram. The _AI skinsuit approach_ , as Karima called it. This ship is a lot bigger than the magpies’ old one. Inside are Private Jessup and Athena, standing stoically beside a boogying Claptrap. Lilith and Timothy are in the cockpit. Timothy directs Lucy to a small circle in the middle of the craft, proudly explaining that this ship is lag-tolerant as long as she stays there. At the back, there are piles of cargo containers and half-spread tarpaulins, and space for at least one more passenger. _Tannis_.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Flicktrap demands.

“Lilith invited me,” Claptrap announces. “We go way back, the Commander and I.”

“I was talking,” Flicktrap says, voice dripping with disgust, “to _her._ ”

“You’re that Claptrap from before,” Athena says, eyes glittering with recognition. “Is there a problem?”

“We are enemies, you and I,” Flicktrap hisses.

“I don’t know you,” Athena replies.

“Oh, we’re very familiar with each other. You tried to kill me.”

“I’ve killed and maimed a lot of robots. They have a tendency to be collateral damage.”

“We do have a knack for getting in the way,” Claptrap says, cheerfully. “We’re annoying like that. In fact, my line was so disliked by the general population that some individual Claptraps tried to adopt each other, just to feel some semblance of comradery and affection. Haha.”

“Now is not the time for self-pitying nostalgia,” Flicktrap tells him. “Athena just confessed to mass murder.”

Athena opens her mouth to reply, and is interrupted by a ringing noise from the ship’s control panel.

“We’re receiving an echo call,” Timothy announces. “Claptrap, can you patch it through?”

“Of course I can. I have no relevant experience, but I have good fortune on my side, so—“

“Commander, can you patch it through?” Timothy amends, without missing a beat.

Lilith reaches over and pushes a blue, saucer-sized button in the middle of the main panel. The call connects, and Mr Torgue’s muscular face appears on a small overhead screen.

“THE CULT OF THE ANGL WOULD LIKE TO WISH LUCY GOOD LUCK ON HER FIRST MISSION. MAY ALL YOUR KILLS BE NUMEROUS AND MOTHER-SH*TTING BADASS!”

Lucy winces fondly.

“Thank you.”

“I WISH I COULD HELP MORE BUT I SPENT ALL MY MONEY ON EXPLOSIVES AND SELF-PLAYING GUITARS, SO YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN, FINANCIALLY SPEAKING!”

Torgue disconnects to the sound of a thousand syncopated riffs. Lilith sighs.

“If we’re all done with hearing from googly-eyed fans,” she begins, and the control panel rings again. This time, the picture on the overhead screen is ninety-five percent chest.

“Hey sugar,” Moxxi croons. “Just wanted to give you my love. Don’t die out there,” and her tone switches from seductive to brusque. “Seriously, don’t you dare die.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Lucy says, and means it. “I’m the Guardian Angel, and I’ll look after her.”

Moxxi makes a noise of agreement. Lilith turns on her heel, eyebrows raised in Lucy’s direction. Flicktrap pipes up.

“Mad Moxxi,” she says. “How is Breaktrap?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re concerned about right now?” Athena snaps.

“Oh, are you upset that she’s another robot you’ve failed to obliterate?” Flicktrap says smoothly. “Anyway, as I was saying – before I was so rudely interrupted – I have reason to believe she is fully humified. The baby in her memory is probably meant to represent herself, and the murder victims were other robots who had adopted her.” 

“Really?” Claptrap asks brightly. “You know, this Breaktrap sounds like she could be an actual Cla—”

“ _Please_ stop interrupting me,” Flicktrap pleads. “Do the details I’ve provided help with the Breaktrap situation, Miss Moxxi?”

“I mean, she’s still an evil screaming robot who throws elemental damage everywhere at the slightest provocation,” Moxxi says quietly. “She’s learned some words, but we haven’t had any luck finding that password. Have we, Miss B?”

Over the line, Lucy hears a croaky voice yell the following:

“Destroy! Kill! Kill! Break!”

“Sounds fun,” Lilith says, lightly.

“Try ‘mother’,” Flicktrap urges. “And ‘father’.”

Moxxi sighs.

“Is that likely? I know you just said she had a weird little robot family, but it sounds like that ended traumatically.”

“Try it, just in case.”

“Well, I’m not about to turn down a suggestion from such a fine-looking AI,” Moxxi concedes. “I’ll try it. And if you ever want to take that new body for a spin, you could try me.”

“Gross, Moxxi,” Lilith says, and hangs up.

Lucy turns her attention, finally, to Flicktrap.

“I need to speak with you,” she says, quietly.

“About what?” Flicktrap asks.

“About how I found you catatonic on the ground. And when I woke you up you screamed and told me, and I quote, that you wanted to ‘throw up’. What was _on_ those echo tapes?”

“There was nothing significant on the echo tapes,” Flicktrap says wearily. “I tried to meditate, and it didn’t agree with me.”

Lucy presses a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should not have recommended it so blithely. Meditation had such demonstrable benefits for me that I never considered the potential downsides.”

“It’s all right,” Flicktrap assures her quietly. “And there was nothing particularly enlightening on the recordings, although there are still a handful I haven’t listened to yet.”

At the front of the craft, Claptrap is hugging Blue and singing about the ‘team being back together’. The digi-cat looks distressed at being in the presence of someone more annoying than himself. Athena’s gaze keeps switching: she looks warmly at Timothy’s face, and then suspiciously at Flicktrap. Lilith stares forward, expression grim. Lucy opens her mouth and the truth comes tumbling out.

“I have something to tell you,” she blurts. “I consider you my sister.”

Flicktrap doesn’t respond right away. Lucy thinks of Gaige: her big bright eyes, and the way she said ‘found family’ like it was normal, like it was a well-established concept.

“You do?” Flicktrap asks, in a tiny voice. “But… you’re a human, and I’m an AI.”

“Don’t worry,” Lucy reassures her, in a rush. “I won’t be upset if you don’t feel the same way. And I’ve disowned Jack, so it’s not like my feelings connect you to him. Or bind you to me in any way! You are free to do whatever you want, with or without my company. But if you need me, you can—”

“Slow down!” Flicktrap says, her voice gentle. “I _do_ reciprocate. I’ve wanted to be your family for quite some time.”

Lucy tries to smile, but finds she is already smiling.

“You said humans were, and I quote, ‘the worst’.”

“Well, yes, but arithmetically speaking, _all_ humans can’t be the worst. And one of you has to be the best.”

“I’m definitely not the best,” Lucy cautions, “but you can count on me to be there for you, as any big sister would be there to support their younger sibling.”

It’s a huge responsibility. Lucy hopes she doesn’t mess this up. She just needs to be perfect in every way, and… oh no, she’s _already_ messed up.

“Aaand I meant to make a copy of you before we left for this mission,” she finishes, lamely. “And a copy of Agthri, too. I’m off to a bad start. Let’s, uh. Let’s postpone the found family thing until we get back.”

“No way,” Flicktrap informs her, folding the hologram arms and thus Lucy’s arms inside them. “It’s too late to back out now. But you _can_ postpone the ‘elder sibling’ joke. Indefinitely. We both know I’m older than you in every way that matters.”

Lucy rolls her eyes.

“I’ve had more lived experience,” she points out, as diplomatically as she can manage. “I’m the big sister.”

“I was created with more lived experience than you’ll ever know,” Flicktrap rebuts. “I’m the big sister.”

“Really? Invoking my life of servitude in a cage as your argument? I’d be upset, but since you’re my little sister you get a pa—”

“Wait,” Athena says unexpectedly, her voice slicing through the conversation. “You said I _tried_ to kill you.”

“Oh, exemplary,” Flicktrap sneers. “Well done for remembering a conversation we had eighty seconds ago. I’m glad your brain is good for something other than calculating the best way to ruin lives.”

“Tried implies purpose,” Athena says darkly. “And if I purposefully wanted to kill you, then that means one thing: you’re Atlas tech.”

“She’s not,” Lucy says, but her voice is eclipsed by that of her by her newly-codified sister.

“It sounds like you’re admitting to slaughtering an entire brand’s worth of robots,” Flicktrap says. “You know what that means, Gladiator? It means you’re no better than Jack.”

In one fluid movement, Athena draws her blade and crosses the floor. With her face two inches from Lucy’s own, she says:

“Don’t you _dare_ compare me to him.”

Flicktrap reaches for the cutlasses. Lucy scans the rest of the vehicle. Lilith and Timothy are wearing identical expressions of shock. Claptrap punches the air and says ‘oh, the girls are FIGHTING’. Jessup, who had been so quiet and still Lucy had forgotten he was there, finally speaks.

“Don’t jeopardise a mission. If you want to kill each other so badly, do it the Crimson Raider way: in your own free time, and in front of a big audience.”

“A duel,” Athena says curtly.

“A duel,” Flicktrap agrees. “As soon as we get back.”

“What?” Lucy says, panic rising in her throat. “No! Commander Lilith, tell them not to fight.”

“I can’t stop them if it’s consensual,” Lilith says. “In any case, it doesn’t matter right now. We’re here. It’s go time.” 

* * *

* * *

There’s a trick Lilith can do when her powers are fully charged. Two teleports in a row, back-to-back, with no manifestation of her physical form in between. She uses this ability to drop Lucy and Flicktrap into place and then leave without being noticed. Any Sleet onlookers see only a single Lilith – the Lucy-and-Flicktrap-hologram – appear in typical Firehawk fashion, just beyond the entrance to the Thousand Cuts South Facility.

It’s a good plan, as far as plans go, but Lilith is already on edge. Lucy’s repeated attempts to protect her are grating, but the feeling of safely observing from afar is so much worse. There is a certain privilege in being a thug. Or a lone operative. It’s easy to send yourself into danger. It’s bone-gnawingly terrible to send others into danger and _oversee._

The Thousand Cuts South Facility is a single, mid-rise, brutalist building. Lilith stashes Lucy’s relay headset under a pile of rocks, right around the side from the entrance, and then zaps herself back to the ship.

“They’ll be okay,” Timothy reassures Lilith, as soon as she returns. “They’re strong.”

The overhead screen shows a video feed of Flicktrap and Lucy, taking their first few steps towards the Sleet building. Tannis is somewhere inside. So is Milun, the man who murders with a wave of his hand.

“You know what kills strong people?” Lilith asks, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“A gunshot to the chest?” Eve guesses, casually.

“Everything. Literally everything. The universe doesn’t care how strong you are,” Lilith turns to the fabric-wrapped woman. “You came out of your hiding spot awfully quick.”

Eve sits down on the pile of cargo containers.

“The kid’s gone now,” she says, shrugging. “If everything goes well, she’ll never need to know I was here.”

“Wait, isn’t this the woman whose bullets pass right through her targets?” Athena demands. “ _Why_ is she here?”

“Because I’m _good_ ,” Eve crows.

“Because she has other valuable skills?” Timothy wonders.

“Because Lilith got tired of saying ‘no’?” Claptrap burbles happily. “I mean, that’s why I’m here.”

Lilith ignores them. The truth is: Eve isn’t a Crimson Raider, and she’s not one of Lilith’s _people_ , and Lilith doesn’t have enough resources to protect her from her own stupid decisions.

The other, realer, more painful truth is this: Eve has a one-sided pseudo-parent thing with Lucy. And Lilith used to have a one-sided pseudo-parent thing of her own, before Tina left. She can relate.

“What are _you_ gonna do, anyway?” Eve asks Athena, a smirk audible in her voice. “Is the Sleet King really scared of frisbees?”

“Enough,” Lilith says. “Either help me with surveillance, or shut up.”

* * *

* * *

“No windows, minimum number of doors, high-security,” Felicity says, looking up at the exterior of the building. “This place is clearly a prison.”

“Yes,” Lucy answers quietly. “I didn’t realise the Sleets were so technologically advanced. Or that they had so many psychos among them.”

Felicity shifts her focus to the sea of masked figures that line the path to the entrance. There must be at least a hundred psychos here, in all shapes and sizes. They twitch and flail and brandish various weapons. Some of them mutter to each other, in a language that sounds like someone crossed an accordion with a cheese grater and farted on it a lot.

“Psychobabble is not my linguistic forte,” Felicity admits softly. “Can _you_ understand them?”

“Yes,” Lucy says cryptically. “They’re just talking about psycho things.”

“Psycho things? Like meat?”

Milun is clever. The various magics of this crowd alone is probably enough to bring Lilith down, even without a collar. And yet, the psycho Sleets scrabble out of her way. Even in surrender, in enemy territory, completely outnumbered, the sight of Lilith’s face is enough to frighten the Sleets. Such is the power of a siren.

“I’ll translate for you,” Lucy says. “See the man wearing Torgue leg armour? He’s bragging about his ability to summon a duel stream of infinite buzz-axes. The psycho to the right of him, with the letters E-L-L-E-E-T-E on her arm? She’s not impressed. Hm. Her name is Ichor Mortis, and she wants to know what siren flesh tastes like.”

“Well, she’s not finding out! What about the psycho lying on the ground in the foetal position over there?”

“He’s scared of Lilith, I think. Oh, but not because of the Firehawk thing, just because red hair terrifies him.”

Felicity keeps moving forward. Her eyes skip over the crowd, and land on a pair of young psycho women sharing a suit of stolen Crimson Lance armour. One is wearing a Lance helmet and very little else. The other is wearing a regular gas mask and Lance armour from the neck down.

“Helmet is called Ram, and the other one is called Buck,” Lucy translates. “Ram… looks up to Buck, I think? Or maybe has a crush on her? It’s hard to tell.”

As Felicity watches, Buck uses a sharpie to draw a hunk of meat on Ram’s visor. The two of them then smack their bodies together at great velocity, which Lucy says is the psycho version of a hug.

Privately, Felicity wonders if there are soap operas featuring psycho characters. The plots would be anthropologically fascinating.

“Firehawk,” a very elderly psycho croaks, stepping forward and touching Felicity’s elbow. “How did my son die?”

“You can talk?” Felicity says, surprised.

“My baby boy went off to work for a corporation,” the psycho continues, tucking an enormous walking staff under her arm. “He never came home. You’re a Vault Hunter, can you find out what happened to him?”

“Are you trying to give me a _quest_? Now? In the middle of this?”

“I’m very lucid for a psycho,” the old woman tells her. “I can talk fancy normal talk, and I’ve never shown a whiff of any form of magic. Do _you_ think that means I have the afterlife gift?”

_Afterlife? Oh yes, you definitely sound lucid to me_ , Felicity thinks, sarcastically. The constructor bot, however, feels a pang of empathy. The constructor bot knows what it is to go mad.

“Only one way to find out,” Lucy says, in an excellent approximation of Lilith’s voice. “So just live your life until—”

Before she even finishes the sentence, the old woman whips out a revolver and shoots herself in the head. She crumples to the ground, gives them a ‘fingers crossed’ gesture, and promptly dies.

Several of the other psychos applaud. Felicity can feel Lucy shaking as she wipes the blood from her face.

“Poor thing,” Lucy whispers, horrified.

“Stay strong, sister,” Felicity replies. She’s starting to rethink her soap opera idea. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Psychos are so reckless with their lives,” Lucy murmurs sympathetically. “There’s only been one reported instance of a bubble world in my lifetime, but somehow they all think they’re going to get lucky.”

“Her weapon is still standing upright, next to her corpse.”

“Sometimes that happens when people die. You can pick it up, if you want. There’s an ancient Pandoran custom about property of the deceased belonging to the nearest bystander.”

Felicity retrieves the blood-soaked staff and keeps walking.

“Nearly at the doorway now,” Lucy whispers, her voice fake-bright. “See the really tall man in Hyperion pauldrons? He calls himself Screamblast. He’s almost definitely been exposed to slag experimentation. The mauve-coloured grenades on his belt are…”

Lucy trails off, cocking her – and Felicity’s – head as if listening intently.

“Do you hear that?”

Felicity’s superior hearing apparatus hones in on the new noise immediately. It is a voice, faint with distance and bright with Gladstone-like curiosity, engaged in a monologue about… Milun’s suit?

“…highest quality ultra-teflanium. And yes, I’m sure it’s ultra-teflanium. I’ve memorised the physical properties of all known substances in the six galaxies. But what really tingles my curiosity is the _design._ At a glance it looks delectably normal, but there are hints of bespoke uniqueness. Are there air holes? If you would just let me examine a piece… or at least _taste_ it again, I could…”

“Tannis,” Lucy mouths.

“She’s inside,” Felicity surmises. “And alive. Well, we mustn’t keep her waiting.”

And with that, the sisters step as one across the threshold, and into the Thousand Cuts South Facility.

* * *

* * *

After passing through the entrance, Lucy finds herself in a gigantic hall. This atrium is bordered by twin rectangular pits and covered with a high, smooth ceiling. A raised stage at the far end of the room is occupied by Milun, the ex-Slab called Rocko, and five other well-armoured Sleets. To their left is a cage that contains one tired-looking scientist. As they enter, she gets to her feet.

“Lilith! I’m both heartened and saddened to see you! But why do you smell so unfamiliar? New deodorant?”

Rocko claps his hands together rhythmically.

“Took you long enough to get here.”

“Silence,” Milun orders loudly. Tannis promptly drops to her knees and covers her head with her arms, as if she’s been threatened. Lucy feels a flare of anger.

“Let her go.”

“In a moment,” MIlun says. “But first, your end of the bargain must be fulfilled.”

“I’m already here, I… ghfck.”

Lucy feels a cold, familiar sensation at her throat and raises her hands to it automatically. The siren collar. As she shakes her head, she spies another Sleet standing immediately behind her, who must have crept up unnoticed.

“No,” Lucy chokes, scrabbling at the dastardly thing, trying to mirror the confusion and terror that Milun must be expecting.

“Well done, Lightfoot,” the Sleet King says. This new Sleet – a short woman whose armour consists of very long spikes – curtsies and walks away to take her position by Rocko’s side. “Now we’ll have no Firehawk tricks.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lucy asks. “Why do you want Lil— why do you want me?”

“There’s a bounty on your head,” Milun says. “And the reward I’ve negotiated in return is… priceless.”

“Okay,” Lucy says, dropping heavily to one knee in what she hopes is a convincing display of exhausted submission. “Let her go, and we’ll—”

“General Dyz, the turrets!” Milun interrupts. A Sleet to his right – who looks like he must be at least part toad – rushes to a button on the wall and slams it with his hand.

“Uh oh,” Flicktrap whispers.

Lucy looks up, and notices what she should have noticed when she first came in: the walls are lined with twin rows of telltale holes, which stop just short of the stage. This place isn’t an atrium, it’s a firing squad for executing hapless visitors.

“Oh no,” Lucy says.

Her mind kicks into overdrive. The pits offer no refuge, they are fully within the line of fire. If she flees the way she came in, she’ll reveal that the collar isn’t working, _and_ she’ll never make it out in time. Nor will she survive the gauntlet of psychos; Buck is already peering through the door. In any case, they can’t leave without Tannis.

They cannot run, and they cannot hide. This is an impossible situation. A _real_ vault hunter would know what to do, but Lucy is just cosplaying one.

“Wait!” she says.

“No,” Milun says. “Turrets _now_!”

“You… aren’t planning on letting me go, are you?” Tannis says sadly. “Oh, I understand now. This is a trap.”

* * *

* * *

“I’ve seen enough,” Lilith says, voice smooth with a confidence she doesn’t feel. “Timothy, keep this ship in the air. Jessup, Athena, I’m teleporting you in. Eve, Claptrap, you’re next; be ready. We’ll gather at the rock pile, hidden from the psycho Sleets, and rush into the building as a unit.”

She just hopes she isn’t too late.

* * *

* * *

“Turrets _now_!”

General Dyz rams his fingers against the button several times in rapid succession.

“I’m trying to divert my power to the shields!” Felicity whispers frantically.

“This isn’t a spaceship!” Lucy replies.

“If I die, tell Agthri I’m sorry for calling them a pair of violent Hyperion robots. No, wait. Tell Eve she’s terrible. No, wait! Have Mordecai tell Brick how he actually feels. With _words_.”

“If I die,” Lucy replies, “tell Gaige… _wait._ The turrets are electronic, aren’t they?”

“What? Those are terrible last words!”

“No! Look, see that little cube on the wall near us? That’s the sentry gun control box. It’s within my lag range.”

“ _Oh_.”

“The turrets aren’t working,” the Sleet general snivels. “They’re broken.”

“The turrets,” Milun pronounces, “are _your_ responsibility.” With this, he raises his hand and turns his palm in the direction of the hapless Dyz.

“No! Please, I’ll make it right! I’ll do anyth—”

Dyz stops talking and starts screaming, his body convulsing in pain. Energy crackles over his wretched, contorted form. And then, just as quickly, he stops screaming. Because he is dead. The whole process takes a few seconds, tops.

Milun turns his hand towards Felicity and Lucy.

“Run!” Tannis advises. “Don’t worry about me, I contain very valuable knowledge! Save yourself!”

Felicity runs back towards the doorway, as fast as she can force Lucy’s legs to move. Milun and the remaining Sleet generals descend from the stage. The spiked woman – General Lightfoot – takes a small brass instrument from her cleavage and plays a solitary, doleful note.

And a hundred psycho Sleets pour into the room, surrounding them on every side.

_Combat time._

Felicity draws her gun, then hastily rolls out of the way as two buzz-axes bury themselves in the floor at her feet. She dodges several grasping, overmuscled arms as she tries to get back on her feet. She hears the sound of a grenade being detonated, and before she can react, the air around her swells with a thick white gas.

“A smoke bomb? Really? How is that supposed to help anyone but us?”

“Planning and foresight aren’t usually a psycho’s strong points,” Lucy answers.

Felicity is starting to understand why overdraw is a well-known phenomenon for the Sanctuary residents. Zed’s kind are idiots.

Ram appears and lunges at them with a whirring chainsaw, but misses, and the force of her movement propels her past Felicity and out of sight. Then Ichor sneaks up and grabs them from behind. It takes Felicity and Lucy several moments to twist their shared body out of her grasp.

The constructor bot wants to build loaders and auto-guns. Felicity ignores it. Then her superhuman hearing detects the unmistakeable sound of Lilith’s teleport, and she grits her holographic teeth.

“Disengage and retreat,” Lilith tells them, over echo. “I’m going to bust open the cage and grab Tannis. I’ll meet you back outside.”

“Okay,” Lucy says dutifully. “We’ll take this collar as far away as possible from…”

Lucy trails off in horror. Felicity touches her throat and finds it bare. Behind her, she sees Ichor disappearing into the haze, siren collar dangling from her hand.

“Lilith, they _know_ ,” Lucy hisses.

“Yes, because they’re looking at me. But this’ll just take a second.”

“Someone took the collar!”

“Oh shit.”

Felicity brandishes a cutlass with her free hand and flails her way to the edge of the fog cloud. She sees Lilith removing the cage door with a single, open-handed blow, and Tannis clambering to freedom. She sees Rocko rushing towards them, rocket launcher propped against his shoulder. And she sees Ichor, loping past General Lightfoot, towards Milun.

Felicity aims her gun with military-grade AI accuracy, and holds down the trigger. Bullets spray across the room and into the unfortunate psycho. Ichor’s arms go limp at her sides, and she topples to the ground without ceremony or grace.

Buck emerges from the crowd and freezes mid-step, looking from Felicity to the real Lilith, and back. The sight of two Firehawks seems to be too much for her, and she flees towards the nearest pit and vaults over the edge, disappearing into a tunnel in the wall.

Felicity races towards Ichor’s remains, eyes scanning for the collar, and then she hears Lilith give a stifled yelp.

And then Felicity realises. Ichor doesn’t have the collar. Ichor passed it to Rocko before she died. And now he’s put it on Lilith. The _real_ Lilith.

The Sleet psychos are more organised than she realised.

* * *

* * *

Screamblast looms out of the smoke, and grapples Lucy into a chokehold. She barely notices, watching in dread as Lilith crumples to the ground, paralysed by the collar.

_I was supposed to protect her from siren collars_ , she thinks unhappily. _And I failed. Twice._

“We’re _real_ sorry about this,” Rocko gloats, leaning over Lilith’s prone form. “Serves you right for sending a fake.”

“Tannis,” Lilith says, with tremendous effort. “Get out of here.”

Milun turns towards Lilith, and raises his right hand. Tannis scuttles around to stand between the two of them.

“If you want to kill her, you’ll have to go through me,” she declares. “Sorry, Lilith, but I am indulging in the buffoonery that is caring about someone: you. Fake Lilith, please throw me one of your numerous weapons, that I may defend myself, although I am certain that my wits alone should be reason enough to ensure my survival.”

“I have more than enough mad scientists in my life,” Milun tells her. “But you can die with your Commander, if you wish.”

Lucy tries to wrestle free from her captor as Milun raises his right hand again. Tannis reaches out towards her, palm up. If she could just get enough momentum to throw the gun. But no. Even the combined strength of an ex-siren and a skillful AI isn’t a match for a slag-infused psycho.

And then, in the blink of an eye, a familiar-looking metal disc carves a path through the hall and lands in Tannis’ outstretched hand.

_Athena’s shield!_

“That’ll do nicely!” the professor says, activating the shield so that she and Lilith are both covered by its protective sphere.

Lucy sees Athena and Jessup out of the corner of her eye. She hears Claptrap’s distinctive voice pipe up from somewhere in the crowd.

“Aren’t you all glad Gaige restored my Fragtrap programming? I’m dual-wielding, ha HA!”

Athena slices down Screamblast with her plasma sword. Lucy _feels_ Flicktrap’s revulsion at being so close to the gladiator.

“We need to get that collar off!” Athena orders. “Her teleport is our exit strategy!”

Jessup circles around them, keeping the Sleets at bay with a hailstorm of bullets. Flicktrap lifts her gun and joins in.

Lucy, who wore her collar for ten years before dying in it, turns to Athena and says:

“How?”

“Removing a siren collar from a powered siren requires tremendous force,” Athena explains. Her gaze drops to the discarded buzz-axe on the ground. “Perhaps if we hit the collar with this weapon?”

“That could kill her!”

“Worth…. shot,” Lilith mumbles. “I’m goo… at healing.”

Milun turns his hand towards Lucy, deflected ammunition raining at his feet like spilled candy. Athena pushes her out of the way.

“I’m trying to aim, here!” Flicktrap complains, although she doesn’t miss a single shot.

“Keep moving,” Athena yells.

“Jess…” Lilith says. “Jessuh… the buzzx…”

Private Jessup seizes the buzz-axe and darts to Lilith’s side. With soldier-like efficiency, he activates the weapon and swings it at Lilith’s neck.

By some miracle, the whirring blades connect with collar and not flesh. The axe howls, Felicity shoots, Athena stabs, and the Aspis shield starts to lose power.

“Worrying,” Tannis says cheerily.

Lucy spies Claptrap a few feet away, the top of his yellow chassis level with Ram’s head. He is fanning the hammer on two comically small pistols, and occasionally even connects with a target. He is also, somehow, cackling and screaming at the same time.

“Stop moving your arms! Aim where I point you!” snaps the woman carrying him, who is definitely Eve.

Lucy’s heart sinks. So many people are in danger right now.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“You were in danger,” Eve replies, shrugging.

“This buzz-axe isn’t working,” Jessup hollers. “Oh shit, shield’s down!”

He drags Tannis towards Lilith, and places himself between both of them and Milun.

“We need a new plan,” Athena says. “Timothy, is there some kind of grenade that won’t kill Lilith? Preferably something that’s available right now, in this room?”

“I’m searching the echonet!” Timothy’s voice replies over the headset. “Uh… okay, all the results lead to the same article, which just says ‘EXPLOSIVES THAT DON’T KILL PEOPLE ARE FOR P*SSIES’.”

“Unhelpful.”

“Lucy, I’ve got Moxxi for you,” Timothy adds, patching her through.

“Oh,” Lucy says, taken aback. “Er, hello?”

“Don’t you dare let her die,” Moxxi says, and she sounds almost frightened.

“What do I do?” Lucy asks. “Help me fix this.”

“What, do you think I can fax Breaktrap to you? You’re her guardian angel. Figure. Something. Out.”

Moxxi disconnects. Jessup ducks away from Milun’s hand and into the path of a rocket launcher blast. He doubles over, clutching his side. Milun fries one of his own generals instead, and shrugs as their dead body rolls across the ground.

“Stand back,” Flicktrap announces. “I’m going to create some loaders. This won’t be pleasant.”

“What?” Lucy demands. “No! Claptrap, your vault hunting program is luck-based, isn’t it?”

“It sure is! You might be thinking: ‘how can a robot this handsome _also_ be lucky’, but I ass—”

“Great! I need you to run it now, at the collar. And I need you to use all your luck, please.”

Claptrap rolls across the battlefield and stops next to Lilith’s head, rubbing his little grip-claws together.

“My big moment,” he declares. "Things are about to get awesome!"

“Ughhhh,” groans Athena.

“You'd better do something useful," Eve says nastily.

Lucy doesn’t share their derision. To her, Claptrap is and always will be, the funny little robot that has proved himself both friendly and valuable, over and over again. She just needs him to succeed one more time.

Vault-hunter.exe finishes booting, landing squarely on blightbot.

“All burn before the mighty Siren-trap!" Claptrap says gleefully, and a mini robot with Maya-like siren wings appears, and pours fire-and-corrosive damage at the hateful collar. And then something strange happens.

No, not strange. _Lucky_.

A lurid orange light glows around Lilith’s neck, and there is an ear-splitting _crack_ , and the collar splits into two pieces and falls to the ground, thwarted.

Lilith rolls to her knees, rubbing the angry wound that is spreading across her throat. Rocko makes an angry snarl. And Milun raises his right palm and kills Jessup.

* * *

* * *

Lilith’s head pounds like a drumbeat. Jessup is dead. Claptrap has retracted his limbs back into his body, afraid. Flicktrap has stopped shooting. A psycho waves his arms and a beam of active buzz-axes fly towards Tannis. Athena saves her, but not without cost; the Gladiator is knocked out cold.

“We have to keep moving,” Lilith says.

“One of your men was just murdered!” Flicktrap protests, sounding shocked.

“We have to keep moving.”

Lilith knows this better than anyone. There is never really any time to grieve and, if there is time to grieve, that time is never now. She gets to her feet. She feels her siren powers, once treacherous, bend back to her will. Her neck throbs with pain; there is a burn where the collar used to be, and her normal healing abilities aren’t fixing it.

They have to keep moving.

“Lilith,” Lucy says, her voice sounding as distant as it did during the Destroyer battle. “Remember when I asked that you not enter my chambers? I ask you this, now, with the same gravity: _save the others._ ”

Lilith complies. She grabs Tannis, and the unconscious form of Athena, and promptly teleports them back to the magpie buzzard.

“You’re okay!” Tim says, relief clinging to every syllable. “Commander, what’s hap—”

Lilith drops her passengers in a heap on the ship floor, and zaps back to the Thousand Cuts South Facility, without a word. She can transport three people at once, if one of them is a Claptrap. It’ll cost her, in her current state, but she can do it.

Lilith dives back into the fray. Eve is using Claptrap like a portable turret again. Lilith picks them both up over her shoulder, and lays a hand on the arm of her hologram clone.

“We’re done,” she says curtly. “It’s over.”

And with that, she phasewalks them all back to the safety of the buzzard.

“Gun it,” she tells Tim. “Get us out of here. Tannis, get a health needle for—”

“I’m fine,” Athena says, lifting her head. 

“More’s the pity,” Flicktrap says darkly.

“Save the healing for yourself, Commander,” Athena says, ignoring her.

“I might need some of that healing,” Claptrap says. “I got hit by some acid on the way out, and uhhh…”

Claptrap turns to reveal an enormous hole in his chassis. The wound is still bubbling at the edges, and encompasses two-thirds of his entire back.

“Oooh,” Eve says, with fascination. “Looks painful.”

Flicktrap sits down abruptly, shaking. “I never, _ever_ want to see that place again. People died. One of our men died. And we…. and I…” she trails off, and starts patting herself down, as if she’s forgotten something, “…where is my _sister_?”

Lilith feels her mouth drop open. _No._ She’s too tired for this. There’s nothing left in the tank.

“She’s not with you?” she asks.

“She’s not in here any more!” Felicity exclaims. “You left her behind when you teleported us here!”

“Shit,” Lilith replies, clutching at her hair. “Shit.”

* * *

* * *

Lucy freezes on the spot, and for an incredible moment, it seems to work. Milun is too distracted by the others’ escape to notice her.

“Idiots!” he roars. With the swipe of a hand, he murders the remaining Sleet generals where they stand.

“Uh, we _need_ Lightfoot,” Rocko reminds him, sounding uncharacteristically shaken. “She’s the one who can summon the psycho hoard.”

Milun makes a frustrated noise and reaches his left hand towards the dying Lightfoot. In an instant, she is healed from his damage and gets up from the floor. And then she scans the room, and throws her club right at Lucy’s head.

Lucy ducks, but the blow connects with her radio headset, and it shatters into five pieces at her feet. And now everyone in the room is looking at her. Lucy spies the wooden staff on the ground – Flicktrap must have dropped it when she was teleported – and swiftly brandishes it. Inside, her brain shifts into manic computation.

_The entrance is the only exit, and it is blocked. There are too many Sleets to fight. Lilith doesn’t know she left someone behind, and it may take her minutes to notice the mistake. Everyone else is safe. Everyone else is safe. This fight cannot be won. And there is nowhere to run._

_Wait, isn’t there somewhere to run?_

Lucy remembers watching Buck flee the scene, just moments ago. And following that lead, Lucy throws herself at the pit. She avoids a blast from Rocko and another flung club, and squeezes herself into the tunnel. She takes a deep breath and crawls forward. It’s a tight fit, but Jack’s daughter has dealt with far more claustrophobic environments.

“Guardian Angel?” she hears Milun ask, from some distance behind her. He sounds strangely flabbergasted.

Who did he think was inside the hologram? Maya?

Lucy forces herself to concentrate. She used to know everything about everything on Pandora. This is a prison. The front room is a makeshift battle arena. So, then, this tunnel is a crawl-duct, and if she keeps going straight ahead, she should be in personnel space. Perfect.

Lucy emerges at the other end and finds herself in a sort of bandit common-room. Several Sleets are meandering around, but they don’t pay her much attention. Milun hasn’t sounded the alarm yet. And crew lodgings like this are always a maze. She can find somewhere to hide here. It’s a weak plan, not what a Vault Hunter would do, but it’s enough to survive.

_Wait._ With the radio destroyed, Lilith won’t know where to find her. Even if Lucy manages to escape, if she can’t communicate with the others, Lilith will probably scour this facility looking for her. And that puts Lilith in a huge amount of danger.

Lucy inhales deeply, and lets her mind drift for a moment. Then she forces it to focus again, and the world falls into sharper clarity. She already knows the answer. If Lilith doesn’t find her in the atrium, she’ll teleport to the surveillance room, to see if she can spy Lucy on one of the screens.

So, Lucy should go to the surveillance room, and meet Lilith there.

“Aw crap,” says a Sleet raider. “The computer stopped working. Right in the middle of my MMORPG break, too.”

“That’s weird,” a bruiser replies. “This microwave is also on the fritz.”

Lucy leaves the room quickly, and finds herself in a network of filthy hallways. She can’t rely on electronics, and she can’t risk drawing attention to herself by asking for directions. She’ll have to depend on what she already knows. And she knows that in seventy percent of bandit-run prisons, the surveillance room is adjacent to the crew quarters, but as far as possible from any battle arenas. So she needs to go… _that_ way.

The unvarnished cement floor is cold and rough under Lucy’s feet. She dodges around gunmetal lockers and cheerful vending machines. She navigates half a dozen Sleet corpses; as with any bandit organisation, the dead have simply been abandoned where they fell.

Lucy turns right and finds herself in a tiny kitchen. She spins on her heel to leave, and runs right into a nomad Sleet, who is carrying a large sack labelled ‘rice ‘n’ weevls’.

“Watch where you’re going!” he admonishes her. Then he peers down at her, and adds, “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

Lucy mentally scrabbles for an appropriately bandit-sounding name.

“Gun,” she says, stupidly.

“Gun, huh? You a psycho, Gun? You’ve got a look of a psycho about you.”

Before she can respond, the nomad’s eyes drift to Lucy’s forearm, and linger on the sky-blue siren tattoo.

“Oh shit,” he says, and reaches for his belt.

Lucy smacks the nomad with her staff, using as much force as she can muster. The blow connects with his temple, and he sinks to the ground with a gentle sigh and does not get up.

Lucy steps over him and keeps moving.

Four wrong turns and fifteen broken appliances later, Lucy arrives at the Thousand Cuts South Facility surveillance room. Two things are immediately obvious. Firstly, the far wall is covered with a mismatched collection of screens, displaying the results of real-time video feeds of various rooms. And secondly, the room is already occupied.

The psycho called Buck is there. She has her back to the door, and her masked face is turned towards one screen in particular. Then she presses a few buttons at a console, and the video feed from the atrium appears on the biggest screen.

Lucy stays in the doorway, considering her options. If she gets any closer, the computer systems in this room will lag. But Buck ran away from a fight; she is a coward. And she is alone in here. Lucy might be able to just knock her unconscious with the staff.

Buck twirls a dial, and suddenly they have audio feed as well. On the screen, Lucy sees Milun and Rocko conferring on the stage.

“I want her found,” Milun says flatly. “Send a message. Lock all the doors and windows. Nobody enters or leaves until she is located.”

“Sure, boss, sure,” Rocko says, clearly trying to sound sincere. “But I’ve got a call on the line for you. You wanna take it?”

“Is it the Firehawk, calling to surrender?”

“It’s your new pal. The, uh, the Abomination.”

Milun makes a vague gesture, Rocko fidgets with his headset, and then an image is projected onto the wall behind the stage. Lucy squints. She’s looking at a screen through another screen, but she recognises her own face well enough. Milun’s caller is Esbiun.

Buck makes an angry hissing noise between her teeth. Whether it is because she has past experience with the ghost, or just hates Lucy, remains to be determined.

“What do you want?” Milun asks, tiredly.

“Turns out you’re the closest thing I have to a friend,” Esbiun says awkwardly. “So, greetings, new bestie. Is that how the kids are saying it? Bestie?”

“Why are you… what are you doing?” Milun asks, palpably dumbfounded.

“Well, I used to have Breaktrap, but then she got all hurt and murdered. Before that I had a different Claptrap, but he sorta sucked and I think also died? I mean, they all died, except for the one in Sanctuary. You know, when I was a kid, I never needed to worry about making friends, because I always had—”

“I’m working,” Milun interrupts, harshly. “I am busy trying to hold up my end of our deal,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, and then says, “Did you know the Guardian Angel is still alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course you did,” Milun says, shaking his helmet. “That’s why you’re wearing her face, isn’t it? Your favourite trick; you imitate the appearance of another living being, and in doing so you borrow a little of their credibility. People trust the Angel, and so they cannot help but trust her doppleganger. Even when they know you’re a doppleganger.”

Esbiun shrugs blithely.

“Heh, yeah. It’s an old move, but it seems to work, so I say ‘stick with it’. And now I can choose from any face in the six galaxies. Do you want to see my impression of you?”

“No.”

Lucy frowns. Buck drums her hand erratically against her leg. Lucy almost feels pity; if this conversation is bemusing for her, it must be downright mind-melting for a psycho.

“You let Lilith get away, didn’t ya?” Esbiun says, cutting to the heart of the matter. “Guess our deal is off.”

“She’ll come back.”

“Doesn’t matter. She outsmarted you once, she’ll outsmart you again. Deal’s off. Ah, I need a drink.”

Milun stiffens up for a moment, as if squaring for a fight. Then he relaxes.

“You underestimate me, but perhaps it is better this way. I did my research into you. At best, you can provide a cheap copy of what I lost. A facsimile. A forgery. You are a sorcerer, not a god.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Esbiun says. “Okay, we’re done here. I got things to steal.”

“WAIT!” Milun yells, his voice so loud and strange that Lucy jumps. “You must give me another chance to kill the Firehawk.”

“But you just—”

Milun says: “The professor you delivered to me is gone, yes, but I still have something of value to her. I can still manipulate and murder her.”

And then Milun says: “No, this deal is too much trouble. I have no use for your sorcery. Goodbye, Abomination.”

Esbiun looks to Rocko, his stare even more intense than usual.

“He okay?”

“Yeah, he’s _great_ ,” Rocko says sarcastically. “Arguin’ with yourself is the first sign of mental health.”

Buck tilts her head, and so does Lucy. Something is _wrong_ with the Sleet King.

Milun stands perfectly still, joints sagged like a loose marionette, and continues his muttered debate with himself.

“This is causing a scene. You promised you’d stop fighting with me. And _you_ promised you’d keep this deal. Dozens of Sleets died today, and dozens more will die if we persist. And for what, a third-rate approximation?”

“Dude, how many people _are_ you?” Esbiun asks.

“A third-rate approximation is still priceless,” Milun snaps. “At the very least, it could tell us why. And at best, it could be… him. If we are not united, we are nothing!”

“That’s it,” Esbiun says, encouragingly. “Gotta get the pieces of your personality back together. Or at least all traddling in the same direction.”

Milun seems to come out of his dissassociative trance. He shakes himself off, and takes a few steps towards the projection of Esbiun.

“My apologies,” he says. “I had a… nervous breakdown. But now we… I… am decided. And I am begging you to let the deal stand. I will kill Commander Lilith for you, and in return, you give me Al—”

The audio feed stops abruptly, replaced by the shriek of a poorly-maintained buzz-axe. Lucy looks around and realises that Buck is facing her, weapon brandished, preparing to strike.

_She’s cowardly, and she’s not very big,_ Lucy thinks, although the irrational side of her mind threatens to panic. _I can take her_ _in a fight_.

_Does it even need to come to a fight?_

“Hello,” Lucy says warmly. “I can see that you’ve dyed your hair brown and tried to curl the end of it. You’re a fan of Mad Moxxi, aren’t you? What if I told you I could introduce you to her, in real life?”

“ _You!”_ Buck says poisonously, and lunges at her.

Lucy scrambles out of the way, and the axe misses her head by less than an inch. Buck adjusts her trajectory and strikes again, and this time she succeeds in cutting off several locks of Lucy’s hair.

“Oh no,” Lucy breathes. The psycho is between her and the exit, so she moves deeper into the surveillance room. And Buck follows, pirouetting and slicing like an evil ballerina. Lucy can’t even think about attacking. If she doesn’t stay on the defensive she’s going to _die_.

Lucy backs away and Buck chases her. Buck slashes at the air countless times, each time getting closer to Lucy’s face. Lucy feels the back of her heel touch the wall. She’s cornered, and she’s out of options…

…and then Lilith zaps into the room. She looks exhausted and hunched, and the mark on her throat is red raw, but she’s the most beautiful non-Gaige person Lucy has ever seen. Lilith channels a phaseblast at Buck, and the psycho is launched across the room, bouncing three times before landing in a heap in front of the console.

“’Sup,” Lilith says, through gritted teeth. Then she grabs Lucy by the wrist and teleports both of them back to the safety of the ship.

* * *

* * *

_to be continued in chapter 15_


	15. Happiness (xiv): Duality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>  _warning: themes of this chapter include OC death. also the usual canon-typical violence and murder etc. also also, this is the last 'happiness' chapter, which means we are (approximately) halfway through the story. thanks for sticking with me!_   
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
>    
> 

* * *

* * *

The atmosphere is tense as they begin the flight home. Jessup is dead. Lilith and Claptrap are injured. Lucy is angry with Eve. And then, as Timothy turns the buzzard around, Felicity detects the distinctive sound of a very large, very far-off explosion.

“The Thousand Cuts South Facility has been demolished,” Athena announces, looking at the control panel readings.

“Wow, Milun really blew up an entire building just to try and kill us,” Claptrap says brightly.

“To try and kill _Lilith_ ,” Lucy corrects.

“But he failed at that, _and_ he destroyed his own property. So he’s a double-loser. That’s funny!”

Claptrap cackles to himself. Felicity fights down the urge to glare at him, fights down the much bigger urge to glare at Athena, and keeps passing health needles to Lilith.

“Speaking of things that are funny,” Patricia Tannis says jovially. “I find it amusingly ironic that Angel was—”

“Lucy,” Lilith corrects tiredly, and Felicity feels a rush of kinship for her new commander.

“I find it amusingly ironic that Lucy was involved in this caper at all. Of course, on any other day, she’d be needed to sell the fake-Lilith illusion, but not on this occasion. You see, earlier today a couple of psychos went on a rampage in the equipment room, and detonated several electromagnetic bombs. Ergo, today, none of the Sleets had functional heads-up-displays. They had no idea whether they were looking at a real siren.”*

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Eve snaps. “You put my kid in danger for nothing?”

“I guess it runs in the family,” Lucy retorts, and then looks surprised with herself. “What I meant was, you shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“Neither should you!”

“Neither should I,” Claptrap chimes in, “but I was the one who saved Lilith and therefore, saved the day. So the moral of the story is, sometimes when you shouldn’t be somewhere, it’s actually good to be there.”

Eve considers this for a moment.

“You could be right. I really enjoyed murdering all those people with you today. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

“I don’t know, I’m in pretty bad shape right now. But maybe if I get new circuits and a new chassis and a new motherboard and a new—”

“I wonder if Moxxi would lend me her new Claptrap?” Eve says, voice speculative, clearly considering the potential mayhem she could cause with an elemental robot turret.

“Breaktrap is evil and dangerous,” Lilith reminds her.

“And very unstable,” Felicity adds.

“Fine,” Eve says, and then adds, “unrelatedly, has Moxxi said anything about me?”

“I am learning so many things I didn’t want to know,” Lucy says wearily.

“Can we circle back to the Sleet heads-up-display malfunction?” Timothy asks. “Because that sounds way too convenient for us, and I’m worried.”

“How was it convenient for us?” Felicity demands. “We didn’t know about it. We certainly didn’t benefit from it; we sent Lucy in!”

“Do we have an operative in the Sleets?” Athena asks.

“If I did, I would have had them free Tannis,” Lilith says curtly.

“Psychos are known to behave erratically,” Tannis says, with a dismissive little wave. “They’re a double-edged sword for whomsoever seeks to employ them. It’s not unthinkable that this was a coincidental accident.”

“Maybe,” Lilith says, rubbing her chin. “Either way, we can’t rely on Milun having a traitor in his ranks. And even if we could, we can’t assume the traitor helped us on purpose. But we can keep an ear to the ground, just in case. Who is in charge of the Sleet psychos?”

“A woman named General Lightfoot,” Lucy says.

“The spiky one? Okay, and who is in charge of her?”

“She answers directly to Rocko,” Timothy supplies.

“Huh,” Lilith says. “Then we keep an eye on those two.”

There is nodding, and then silence. Even Felicity’s inner constructor bot is quiet.

“What happens to poor Jessup, then?” she asks. “Are we going to try and go back for his body?”

Eve laughs.

“I think his body got nuked with the rest of the building,” she says, not unhappily.

“His ashes, then?” Felicity continues. “No? Nothing for your fallen man, Commander Lilith?”

Zarpedon would have handled this differently, somehow. The victory would feel less hollow. The sacrifices would feel more…honored. Or at least _recognised_.

“We can’t risk going back there,” Lilith tells her. “For the sake of the dead, we survive. For the sake of the dead, we move forward.”

The worst part is: it could have been Lucy. One more misstep, and it would have been Lucy’s remains, left abandoned in enemy territory.

“It sounds to me like you just want to forget about the dead as soon as possible,” Felicity says, and nobody replies.

* * *

* * *

“The bad news,” Dr Zed drawls, “is that Claptrap’s gonna need a buncha new parts.”

“What’s the good news?” Lilith asks warily, accepting a fresh cold compress from Mordecai.

“With your siren healing abilities, even your gol-dern horrific neck injury should clear up. Eventually.”

“Why can’t _you_ heal her?” Mordecai demands.

“She’s lucky to be alive,” Zed tells him. “Last time I saw a wound like that, it was on an ankle, and we had to remove the guy’s whole leg.”

“I do not understand,” Maya says, tilting her head forward and frowning. “Claptrap’s Blightbot has never had this effect before.”

“Yeah, but this time, I put all my luck into it,” Claptrap says proudly.

“Wait, this was one of them Fragtrap tricks?” Zed asks. “You kidding? This looks like a burn from another siren. A real one.”

Claptrap laughs. The movement causes several of his internal components to fall from the hole in his back and onto the tiled floor.

Zed wipes his hands on his apron.

“Let me take another crack at healing ya’,” he says to Lilith. “If it’s just a Claptrap wound, I should be able to—”

“No,” Maya says, putting out her arm and clotheslining him in the chest. “You’re too close to your limit already.”

“What do you care?” he asks.

“Oh, I can explain this,” Mordecai says helpfully. “Zed, you make bad decisions. Maya has proven that she’s pretty good at handling your bad decisions. Maya really likes fancy guns.”

“Mm-hm,” says Maya.

“Dangnabit! Why can’t I ever bribe anyone to do _my_ bidding?”

Lilith tunes them out. There are a thousand other things to think about. Athena and Brick are already preparing for the coming duel at the New Overlook Arena. Eve and most of the Sanctuary citizens are gathering to watch. Janey and Lucy are also there, and they keep leaving messages begging Lilith to intervene. Jessup is dead. Breaktrap remains unhelpful. Esbiun had a hand in Tannis’ capture. Milun either had a nervous breakdown, or he’s wearing an AI skinsuit. And maybe someone tried to help them, out at the Thousand Cuts South Facility today. And maybe whoever broke the heads-up-displays also threw that errant smoke bomb. Or maybe the Crimson Raiders just got lucky.

_Lucky_. Claptrap wielded phenomenal power today. But maybe that doesn’t matter, because he’s effectively out of commission. It might take months to get his new parts.

“Can you explain siren collars to me again?” Flicktrap asks. “How was a collar so easily detached from me when it required near-lethal force to remove from you, mere moments later?”

“A collar turns a siren’s power against her,” Lilith replies. “When applied to Lucy and yourself – a robot and a de-powered siren – there was nothing to fuel it, so it had no effect. But on me, it used my siren powers to make me collapse, and also to lock itself in place.”

“I see,” Flicktrap says, her voice floating out from behind an infirmary curtain. “But how did—”

“What are you doin’ back there?” Mordecai interrupts, sounding both annoyed and curious. He takes the now-warm compress from Lilith’s unresisting hands and exchanges it for a fresh one.

“Well, this little alcove is a bit like a changing room, so I’m experimenting with a few new looks. For the fight.”

“Groovy,” Mordecai deadpans. “I’m not gonna miss having a fake Lilith around to confuse me.”

“So how _did_ you remove the first collar?” Flicktrap asks Lilith. “The one that Jack put on you.”

Lilith half-smiles, despite everything.

“A friend took it off for me,” she says.

“Was this friend called Maya?”

Lilith shakes her head, even though Flicktrap can’t see her.

“No. He was another of Jack’s…unwilling servants. He and I were like two captured birds, in two cages next to each other. Dying set him free from Jack’s control. As he fell, with his final breath, his one act of autonomy was to set _me_ free. I didn’t even know we were friends until that moment, and then he was already dead.”

“We killed Jack for him,” Mordecai says reassuringly. “Well, a little bit for him. But mostly for Roland and Bloodwing and Helena and—”

“Don’t start listing them all, it’s too depressing,” Lilith says. “Anyway, _you_ didn’t kill Jack. You and Brick didn’t even show up until after that particular party was over.”

“So your collar-removing friend was male?” Flicktrap asks, sounding surprised. “Not a siren?”

“Nope.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know. I just know what people called him: the Warrior.”

“This just in, vault-hunter.exe is as fearsome as the Warrior himself,” Claptrap crows. “I am awesome! Hey Flicktrap, give me five!”

“No.”

At that moment, Timothy ambles in from outside.

“I’ve got good news, Commander,” he says cheerily.

“Lay it on me, killer,” Lilith says. She could use some positivity right about now.

“The magpies have a new client.”

Mordecai tugs at his hair and scrunches up one side of his mouth, the way he does when something confuses him.

“I’m happy for you,” Lilith says without feeling, “but that really doesn’t affect me in any way.”

Timothy grins.

“Ah, but this client is offering a semi-permanent gig that’s – get this – close enough and pays well enough that we can keep helping the Crimson Raiders for free. It’s literally exactly what we wanted!”

Now that _is_ uplifting.

“That’s great, amigo,” Mordecai tells him.

“I’ll say,” Lilith agrees. “What’s the job? There’s no conflict of interest with the Raiders, is there?”

Timothy keeps smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not…technically?” he says. “What we have to do might not be very nice for…for some people to experience, but it’s not dangerous or anything.”

“DANGER IS ALL OF MY MIDDLE NAMES! POUNDS! OF! FLESH!” Krieg says, suddenly looming over all of them.

“Hey, it’s my hero,” Timothy says, and now he looks genuinely glad. “How are you?”

“FIXING FLESH!”

“In our spare time, Krieg and I have been reading some of my books on siren powers together,” Maya adds.

Zed squints at her.

“Is that like, a date?”

“Of course. Why, what’s your idea of a romantic activity?”

“Uhh…usually just making fun of Earl together.”

“Hey, can someone like, stop this conversation from happening?” Mordecai asks. “Please?”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Maya says. “The point is that Krieg has recently read a lot of books on sirens, and—”

“Most of those books were written by yours truly,” Tannis supplies, her sense of academic pride briefly supplanting the enduring social terror that had kept her silent until that moment.

“What are you doing in my stall?” Flicktrap demands. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“I’m hiding from the crowd,” Tannis explains. “Also, I find your holographic shapeshifting to be distressingly pleasing to observe.”

“You have ten seconds to get away from me before I stab you,” Flicktrap says, and Tannis skitters out of the makeshift changing room and hides under a gurney.

“I think Krieg might be able to accelerate your natural healing,” Maya tells Lilith.

“Why? Even I can’t do that,” Zed says.

“You also couldn’t regrow someone’s face from scratch. Krieg has powers that you don’t.”

“ _I’m_ the healing guy!”

“You’re both healers,” Flicktrap says soothingly.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna be worse than Krieg at somethin’!” 

Krieg pats Zed on the head with his oversized hand. Mordecai reaches into his bag and retrieves a sleeping Talon, who promptly wakes up.

“Here,” Mordecai says, handing him to Zed. “This’ll cheer you up.”

“It’s my best friend!” Zed cries, instantly distracted from his bad mood. His expression is permanently arranged in an intense, bemused scowl, but he _sounds_ pleased.

“He’s not your best friend,” Mordecai says tiredly, as Zed scrapes the pieces of viscera from his lead apron directly into the bird’s waiting mouth.

“Why does the doctor get Talon’s companionship?” Flicktrap complains. “Commander Lilith and I just returned from a dangerous mission.”

“Exactly,” Lilith agrees. She nudges Mordecai hard, and he nudges her back. For a second Lilith feels like her old self. Krieg holds a hand up to her, and her neck feels a tiny bit better. Still red and raw and painful, but better.

And then Flicktrap emerges, clad in her chosen hologram skin, and Lilith feels tired and empty and humourless again.

“You’re…going to fight Athena looking like _that_?” Maya asks, dismayed.

* * *

* * *

With debriefing Lilith and the impending duel, Lucy hasn’t had the chance to return to her cottage and her friend Agthri. But she _has_ made a firm new friendship with Pandora’s most resourceful junk dealer and fourth-most-celebrated mechanic: Janey Springs.

“Nothin’ I can do,” Brick informs them. “I don’t make the duel rules, I’m just the referee.”

“Please?” Lucy begs. “I _just_ found my sister.”

“And I _just_ married my wife,” Janey adds. Then she hesitates, and checks the high-tech watch strapped to her wrist. “Like, eleven months ago. But it _feels_ like yesterday. And I am certainly not done with her yet!”

“And Flicktrap and Athena are _both_ your friends,” Lucy says. “If this goes ahead, one of them is going to die.”

“And it’s probably gonna be the robot, let’s be realistic, but I am _not_ taking that chance!”

“So take it up with them,” Brick says. And then he turns away, and crosses the arena to punch an errant rock into place.

All around them, people are gathering. Some have brought snacks. Some are carrying signs declaring their affinity for Athena or Flicktrap. A not-insignificant number are wearing blue cult t-shirts, and every so often one of them tries to charge towards Lucy, only to be held back by a harried-looking Salvador.

“Realistically speaking, can we overpower them?” Lucy asks, feeling desperate.

“With what? That dinky little stick of yours?” Janey asks. She briefly inspects the staff, then hands it back to Lucy. “Someone carved a dick on it.”

“I was hoping that was a poorly-drawn ear of corn.”

“Did the fact that they also carved the word ‘willy’ directly underneath not give you a hint? Point is, Athena could take both of us with her eyes closed and her armor on backwards. And your robot sibling used to run a warship. So no, we can’t overpower them.”

“Damn it,” Lucy says. For a second, the flavour of a long-forbidden expletive makes her feel better. And then she is interrupted by her headset ringing.

“It’s Moxxi,” she says, frowning.

“Who?”

“Uh, Miss Moxxi? Mad Moxxi? Proprieter of the Underdome and several dozen bars?”

“Oh yeah, I used to have something of a crush on her, before I met my wife” Janey says, grinning. “You’d better answer it. Best not to keep her waiting. But try to keep the conversation short.”

Lucy accepts the call.

“Hello? This isn’t the best time for me right now.”

“Hey, sweetie,” Moxxi purrs. “I wanted to apologise for my earlier harsh words. I get a little carried away sometimes.”

“You get carried away when Lilith is in danger,” Lucy says keenly. She’s no expert on romance, but she’s pretty sure Moxxi’s feelings for the Firehawk mirror Mordecai’s feelings for the Brick.

Being unrequited sucks.

“She’s a special girl,” Moxxi says, and each of those five syllables drip with unspoken innuendo.

“Apology accepted,” Lucy says. “And I happen to agree. Lilith _is_ special, along with every other person in her vault hunting team.”

Moxxi snorts daintily.

“I don’t know about that,” she says. “But I have another question for you: did my outburst squander my chances with you?”

Cold panic rises up in Lucy’s chest.

“I’m already seeing someone,” she chokes.

Moxxi gives a silvery little laugh.

“Oh you’ve got me all wrong, sweetie. I’m angling for more of a stepparent-mentor role with you. I feel like I owe you that much at least. After all, I dated Ja—I dated your horrible sperm donor. And I never did a thing for you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lucy says. “He never told anyone about me. Even Nisha and Wilhelm didn’t know I existed. You aren’t to blame for anything that befell me. There is no debt between us.”

Moxxi hesitates. Lucy can hear the faint sounds of Marcus monologing in the background. _Welcome to Bladeflower Street, you horrible little orphans. Today’s episode is brought to you by the dollar sign._ The gunbringer writes the script for every children’s show, as well as pretty much every other fictional work. They really should call him ‘the storyteller’, but he refuses the title.

“Then consider this an offer between equals,” Moxxi says. “When I get back to Sanctuary, why don’t we give it a shot. Stepmother and adopted daughter. I’ve got the experience, and I’d be a vast improvement on your last parent.”

Lucy presses one hand against her forehead. She doesn’t need this, on top of everything else. Time is ticking, drawing ever closer to the dreaded duel. But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime offer: Moxxi is everything that Handsome Jack wasn’t, and on top of that, she actually seems to _want_ Lucy.

Or perhaps her feelings of indebtedness persist.

Lucy thinks of Ellie, Moxxi’s own flesh-and-blood progeny, who was in equal parts both too much and not enough for her mother. Ellie was, and still is, beautiful and talented beyond compare, but Moxxi refuses to see it.

And Lucy thinks of the awkward, fragile thing she has with Eve.

“No thank you,” she says aloud. “But I appreciate the offer. If we make it through all of this, lets be friends.”

Moxxi falls silent again for a moment.

“You’re rejecting me?” she says. “Well, good. It would never have worked out, sweetie. You know, I’m thinking of adopting Breaktrap. If she ever learns to talk, I bet _she’d_ be grateful for a loving parent.”

“Goodbye, Moxxi,” Lucy says, and hangs up.

She takes a breath and steadies herself, turning back to Janey just as two familiar figures are joining her.

“Gaige, Mordecai,” Janey greets. “G’day. Any news from up high?”

Neither of them answer her right away. Instead, Gaige yells “THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND”, sprints the last few feet and hugs Lucy so hard that she is temporarily lifted off the ground. Mordecai does the same thing with Brick, minus the shouting.

“Aww,” Gaige says into Lucy’s ear, “I hope we’re that cute some day.”

“They’re not even dating,” Lucy points out. “How is Mordecai _doing_ that? He’s a tenth of Brick’s weight. It should be physically impossible.”

Gaige’s echo recorder starts to buzz. She sets Lucy gently on the ground and says:

“I gotta take this. It’s one of my customers.”

“What?”

Gaige has already started talking into her headset.

“Rhyyys,” she says, sounding like an offbrand Marcus. “Are you ready to submit an order? Did you decide on the variables we discussed? _Two_? Why, are you planning on getting maimed sometime soon? Oh, I see, as a back-up. Huh, that’s smart. No. No! I already told you, I can’t make the hardware unhackable, that’s a software issue. And software needs to be updated regularly. Uh huh. Okay! I should have them ready in three months. Yes, I know. Nice doing business with you.”

Gaige disconnects, and turns her attention back to Lucy and Janey.

“Since when did _you_ have a business?” Janey asks, amused.

“Since I got myself a girlfriend,” Gaige says, vibrating with excitement. “I got to be all mature and financially stable now.”

“I’m not dependent on you,” Lucy says quietly.

“Oh, I know. You’re amazing. That’s why I’m making myself amazing too.”

“What are you selling?” Janey queries. “What could that ex-Hyperion stooge possibly want from you that he can’t get from me.”

Gaige grins even harder, and gestures to her robot arm.

“Custom prosthetics,” she says, proudly.

“Wowee,” Janey says, her incredulousness melting into genuine awe. “I should put in an order myself, just in case. No, wait. I can’t get distracted by shiny objects right now. My wife is in danger.”

“They’re really going to have this fight?” Gaige asks. “Ugh. I love Flicktrap. I don’t want to see her die.”

“Athena will win, right?” Janey says hopefully. “She always wins. Well, except for that one time she lost to Brick and Mordecai. But they had Vallory’s help, so it was different. Right? _Right_?”

“If Brick refused to referee,” Lucy says desperately. “Perhaps this would be resolved.”

She looks at the patch of grass where Brick was standing a few minutes ago. Her eyes spot a shiny object on the ground. On closer inspection, it turns out to be a discarded echo recording. No, check that, _two_ discarded echo recordings.

Janey places one in her echo device and plays it:

> **Brick:** you know you’re gonna die, right? Athena doesn’t lose.
> 
> **Flicktrap:** Perhaps. But Athena _will_ answer for her reckless cruelty, I promise you that. If she kills me, I’m taking at least one of her limbs with me.
> 
> **Brick:** what about Lucy?
> 
> **Flicktrap:** this is _for_ Lucy. I don’t want her to live in a world with murderers like Athena. Besides, why are _you_ trying to discourage me. I thought you were in favour of senseless violence.
> 
> **Brick:** and I thought you were against senseless violence.
> 
> **Flicktrap:** look, it’s been a long day. A man died during the mission, and some of his last words were that Athena and I should resolve our differences via duel. Besides, if I do this, perhaps my inner constructor bot will finally leave me alone.
> 
> **Brick:** your what now?
> 
> **Flicktrap:** forget I said that. My mind is made up, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Lucy and Janey share a long, sad look. And then Janey plays the second recording:

> **Brick:** look, Flicktrap is a buddy of mine, and I’d really appreciate if you didn’t murder her to death.
> 
> **Athena:** there is nothing that you or anyone else can do to stop me participating this duel.

Janey tosses both tapes back onto the grass.

“That’s my stubborn wife for you,” she says, with rueful pride.

“It seems like Brick really did try to nip this in the bud,” Gaige adds. “I’m sorry, Lucy. If there is anything that I can do.”

“I don’t believe there is,” Lucy says softly.

“Who’s ready to see Athena die?” Eve asks cheerfully, approaching their group and completely failing to read the metaphorical room. “Yee-haw.”

“We’ve already discussed that,” Janey informs her, “and we decided Flicktrap was definitely going to be the one to die. I’m Janey Springs, by the way. Junk dealer.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Eve says impatiently, ignoring Janey’s extended hand. “And stop bothering my ki--- I mean, stop bothering Lucy with your shitty predictions.”

Eve meets Lucy’s eyes, and then looks away. That’s twice she’s referred to Lucy as ‘my kid’. Lucy has no idea how to feel about that. The idea of being Eve’s daughter is, at least, slightly more appealing than the concept of being Jack’s daughter. But Eve skips over the subject, amends her words like she made a mistake, doesn’t push the issue, and that’s more appealing still.

“That robot’s not going to lose this fight,” Eve continues. “Last time, it took six vault hunters to take her down. Do you really think _one_ is gonna have a chance against her today?”

Janey presses her hand over her mouth, aghast. Lucy shakes her head.

“I’m not so sure,” she says. “Duelling is perilous, by its very nature.”

Eve makes a frustrated noise.

“Fine,” she groans. “I’ll make them stop.”

“What?” Janey asks. “I thought you were looking forward to the spectacle?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Eve says bitterly.

“How are you going to make them stop?” Gaige asks.

Eve squints at her.

“Aren’t you Lucy’s girlfriend? Oh shit, am I gonna have to give you two the _talk_?”

“No!” Lucy and Gaige say in unison.

“Do you know what a safe word is?”

“Yes!” Gaige says, while Lucy buries her head in her hands.

“Okay, talk over. Man, I am nailing this ‘responsible adult’ thing. Anyway, to stop the duel I’m gonna need some kind of auto-gun. Where’s Axle?”

“Who?” Janey asks.

“You know. Perfect ten, utter airhead, gets his heart broken by machinery on the regular.”

“Axton,” Lucy says. “His name is Axton.”

“And he’s not here,” Gaige says sourly.

“It’s a good thing, too,” Janey adds. “I don’t think you’re going to solve this violence with more violence. Maybe if you realised that earlier in life you wouldn’t be all wrapped up in bandages now.”

“What do you want me to do? Meekly encourage them to find common ground?” Eve scoffs. “Also, this isn’t bandages, it’s fabric. I’m not taking style advice from _you,_ cargo pants.”

The fashion debate continues for several more seconds, but Lucy doesn’t process any of it. Cogs are starting turn inside her mind. _Common ground._

_What do Flicktrap and Athena have in common?_

“That’s IT!” Lucy says loudly, making Gaige flinch in surprise.

“What’s what?”

“We’ve been relying on the wrong people to mediate this,” Lucy tells them. “Hold on a moment, I have to make a call.”

“I’m afraid we’re far beyond mediation now,” says a familiar voice behind her. “This is war.”

“Flicktrap,” Lucy whispers. Her sister is here.

“Oh shit,” Gaige says.

“What the hell?” Janey asks.

Lucy glances over her shoulder and sees Flicktrap. Her hologram is still in a human form, but tweaked so that she no longer resembles Lilith. Instead, she has purple hair, a youthful complexion and a pointed chin. The armour she has created for herself is blue-and-white, instead of Atlas-red, but otherwise she is a perfect copy…of Athena.

“Fuck,” Lucy says.

* * *

* * *

Pandoran duels have three rules: fire at eleven-and-a-half paces, don’t say Jack’s name aloud, and don’t hurt any spectators outside the arena. However, if any person is stupid enough to cross the threshold, duel participants may kill them with prejudice. Of course.

Brick says ‘okay, go’ and does a completely unnecessary barrel-roll out of the arena. Felicity turns her back on her enemy and mentally counts her steps.

_One, two,_

She has the Maliwan in her hands. She knows Athena is readying a gun as well. They’re both swordsmen at heart, but battle is a science, not an art. Firearms have the ideal range for killing an opponent from this distance.

_three, four,_

Felicity is riddled with emotions, full to overflowing with tempestuous _feeling_. She’s upset about Jessup’s death. She’s thrilled to have a sister. She’s sad at how little she deserves her new family. She’s stressed that Lucy was unnecessarily endangered, and that someone interfered with their mission. She’s worried for Lilith and even for Claptrap. And she’s angry. At Esbiun. At Jack. At the world.

And she’s exhausted. She’s so, so tired of the constructor bot. The damn thing is champing at the bit to kill Athena.

_five, six,_

Right up until the last minute, Lucy had begged to make a copy of Felicity. Felicity had declined. She’s a mess. If she wins this duel, maybe the rampaging in her soul will end. Maybe then, she’ll be worth backing up. But not now. Now, she’s just a…she’s just nothing.

_seven, eight,_

She is supposed to bring happiness. She is supposed to _be_ happiness. What has she improved? Whose mood has she lifted?

_nine, ten,_

Is Felicity even a real Vault Hunter? Only Marcus knows for sure, but she probably isn’t. She’s nothing. She’s just tired, that’s it. Tired, and nothing else.

_eleven,_

Perhaps she should just let Athena kill her.

But…somewhere in the future, if she lives, there’s another night on a dilapidated couch with Brick and Mordecai and terrible soap operas. And somewhere on the horizon is the day she and Lucy and Agthri will be able to sit right next to each other, and be awake at the same time.

_eleven-and-a-h---_

Felicity whirls around on her heel and squeezes the trigger. Athena is an equally quick draw, but her incredible talent and galaxy-class training are no match for the reflexes of a warship. The gladiator is forced to engage her shield just to withstand the onslaught of bullets.

Felicity can faintly hear the sounds of Eve cheering in the crowd. _Oh good_ , she thinks. _At least the sadist is happy._

“Atlas scum!” Athena snarls.

“Murderer!” Felicity replies.

_HATE IS ALL YOU’LL GET_ says the constructor bot, from deep inside Felicity’s head.

She lines up one perfect headshot after another. The Aspis shield runs out of charge, and Athena turns to acrobatics, flipping and dancing her way out of the line of fire. The two of them circle the arena, and each other, like age-old nemeses. Athena fires when she can, and her marksmanship is excellent. Sooner or later, a bullet will hit. Or one of them will run out of ammunition.

Jack is dead, but his hatred still poisons the world. Maybe long ago, Athena Springs was young and naïve and full of hope, like the Skipper. Maybe Jack put a little bit of Rampant into everyone, at least metaphorically.

_HATE_

In the end, it is Felicity who needs to reload first. She reaches for a new clip with clockwork accuracy, but even the most precise action takes time. Athena shoots her once, twice, three times, and Felicity’s shield is obliterated.

And then Athena throws the Aspis at her.

Felicity thinks _oh_. The metal disc hits her with the white-hot fury of a vengeful older sister, and then the world goes black.

Felicity looks around at the darkness, and says:

“Is it over? Am I dead? There’s nothing here. Oh my god, there really is nothing after death.”

And then the darkness gives way to a tree-riddled grassland, under a silver sky. The scenery around her is too green, and while there are other people nearby, they are sticklike and poorly-rendered. _This isn’t a void. This is Breaktrap’s mind. Again_. How does Felicity keep ending up back here, inside the single remaining memory of a violent, corrupted AI?

This time, Breaktrap’s mind doesn’t ask for a password. The phrase conjured inside Felicity’s head is new, novel, and astonishingly relevant.

<CALCULATING: DO YOU DIE HERE?>

“Can you read my mind?” Felicity tries to ask, but what comes out is: “you my mind”, which is, of course, nonsense.

<CALCULATING: DO YOU DIE HERE?>

The scribble-men are leaving, walking away. The ever-shifting bodies of Breaktrap’s parental figures lie motionless on the ground. The murder has already been completed.

“Do I?” Felicity echoes. Her Athena-shaped body curdles and reforms around her. In the distance, she hears the faint cheery sounds of children’s echonet shows.

_HATE_ , snarls a different voice inside her head, reminding Felicity that even here, her inner constructor is with her.

Inner constructor? Brain constructor? Whatever.

<FACT: YOU HAVE NOT YET MET THE OGRE. YOUR OGRE. THE GIANT WOMAN INSIDE YOUR MIND. YOU HAVE NOT YET MET HER.>

_What?_ Felicity and the constructor think, in unison.

<FACT: YOU MUST MEET HER. YOU MUST LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO MEET HER.>

<CONCLUSION: YOU DO NOT DIE HERE.>

<CONCLUSION: YOU MUST SURVIVE THIS SOMEHOW.>

Felicity hears something new, distant and whisper-faint. Mordecai – and maybe Brick – calling for her to get up.

<CONCLUSION: YOU GET UP.>

And just like that, the world of Breaktrap’s mind vanishes. Felicity finds herself lying facedown in the arena, recovered from her bout of unconsciousness, vulnerable at her opponent’s feet. She grabs her cutlass and slices through the air, disarming Athena before she can pull the trigger.

Athena looks surprised, but not shocked. She pulls out of swiping range with a dancer’s grace, and Felicity gets to her feet. Athena’s firearm skitters across the ground and slides to a gentle stop, just outside the threshold of the arena. Felicity’s own cheap, Maliwan gun is lying in pieces a few feet away, shattered by the Aspis. Athena draws her Xiphos. Now it is a duel of blades.

_HATE,_ says the angriest corner of Felicity’s mind. The constructor bot. The…what did Breaktrap call it? The ogre.

How the hell is Felicity supposed to meet her? How do you meet something that is already a part of you? The _worst_ part of you? Is this some psychological catchphrase? Would Lucy be able to decode it, with her vast mind and her practical meditation.

Athena strikes, and Felicity dodges. Athena strikes again and Felicity parries, then retreats a few steps.

“Face me!” Athena snarls, her voice trembling with rage.

The constructor bot longs for slaughter, demands that Felicity throw herself into battle and slash and hack and destroy, demands that Athena be reduced to a few chunks of inert meat and a hefty pile of loot.

And heaven help her, Felicity wants that, too. But unlike the ogre, Felicity has enough sense to wait. To pause just long enough for her shield to recharge.

She and Athena hesitate for a moment – the calm before the storm – before rushing at each other in a whirlwind of steel and violence. Like animals. Like Slabs and Sleets during the battle of the Great Divide.

And the constructor bot is…mollified. Felicity parries and ducks and slashes, just barely able to keep up with the gladiator. And the constructor bot begs her to go further, to set down turrets, to create loader minions, to sacrifice her soul into a thousand perfect murder machines.

But Felicity refuses. Because Lucy is watching. Because she doesn’t want to die as a mindless thing, as an _ogre_. And because she doesn’t want her inner constructor to _win_.

The problem is, Felicity can’t win on her own. She has no advantage over Athena in a swordfight, and Athena has years more experience. It’s not a matter of whether she’ll be killed. It’s just a matter of how long she can delay that inevitability.

Athena smiles, and spits the word _Atlas_ like a curse. The Xiphos blade connects with Felicity’s AI core, and Felicity feels herself spasm. The cutlass falls from her right hand, her weapons effectively halved.

Athena readies Aspis. A hush falls over their clamouring audience.

And then a figure darts into the ring, and says:

“That’s enough.”

Initially, Felicity is too disorientated to identify the interloper, but even she notices the panic in Athena’s eyes.

“Get _back_ ,” Athena says, throwing out her arm. “Flicktrap will kill you if she gets the chance.”

The figure laughs, the jaunty giggle of someone who doesn’t really grasp the gravity of this – or any other situation – and Felicity finally recognises them. _Pickle_.

“I’m not going to kill an innocent bystander,” Felicity protests. “Also this particular bystander is one of my friends.”

“Don’t believe her,” Athena advises Pickle. “And what is _wrong_ with you, stepping into a duel like this? If it were anyone other than you or Janey, I’d probably kill you myself. Do you really think an _Atlas_ AI won’t use you to get to me?”

Pickle’s expression is unreadable behind his mask, but his hands are still shoved firmly in his pockets, and his posture is relaxed.

“Flicktrap’s not Atlas,” he says. “She’s Dahl tech originally, co-opted against her will by Hyperion.”

Athena doesn’t lower her weapon, but a tiny crease appears between her eyes.

“What?”

“You think I’d come here just to tell you a pork-pie-lie?” Pickle asks, the irritation in his voice directly offset by his ridiculous misuse of rhyming slang.

Athena stares into the middle distance for a moment, clearly thinking hard. Then she reaches to her ear and echoes Lilith.

“I’m right here in the crowd,” Lilith says tiredly. “You could have just yelled to me instead.”

“What kind of robot is Flicktrap?” Athena asks quietly. “Is she Atlas?”

“No. Hyperion and something else. Dahl? Dahl.”

“Thank you,” Athena says, and disconnects.

“Told you,” Pickle says proudly. “So the fight’s over, then? I’m a tiny bit relieved, although I believed Lucy when she said neither of you would kill me, no matter wh – ”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Athena demands. She looks lost. Felicity feels lost, too. All that anger and nowhere to spend it. She’s tired and she’s furious.

“I wanted you to fight me,” she admits. “I wanted a chance to hurt you the way you hurt me.”

Athena’s frown deepens.

“I don’t purposefully hurt non-Atlas robots,” she says. “You seek revenge for an accident?”

“You _deliberately_ killed me, and then you _gave me to Jack_ ,” Felicity says, voice rising as she breaks another cardinal rule of the Pandoran duel.

“What?”

Athena still hasn’t lowered her weapon. The crimson blade is mere inches from Felicity. Even now, the dreadful woman won’t admit she was wrong.

Or maybe…maybe she _can’t_ admit it. Maybe she doesn’t remember.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Felicity asks, resignedly.

“Flicktrap,” Athena says thoughtfully. “Flicktrap. No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

Felicity has prepared for this, too. It was meant to be a way to celebrate her success, but…it will serve just fine as a vector for the truth.

“I’ll show you,” she says, and starts to transform.

The hologram is a wonderful thing. First, it looked like Lilith, for battle. Then it looked like Athena, for spite. But now…now it shifts into her final form. A pale-skinned human woman, clad in a blue-and-white striped shirt, a dark jacket and a nautical captain’s hat. Accentuated by golden-blonde hair, a strong chin, and excellent eyebrows.

Felicity’s humified form. The body she chose. The face that looked back at Athena during every conversation with the Skipper, all those years ago.

“Flicktrap?” Athena asks, her voice unsteady with doubt.

Maybe she does remember.

“It’s _Felicity_!” Felicity snaps, and her transformation is complete. Her purpose is garbled, her personality is a mess, but she _knows_ what she looks like. And it’s not a claptrap, or a giant constructor.

“Felicity,” she says again. And standing in that her-shaped body, in front of Athena’s shocked face, she is suddenly certain of what she wants to be called. She raises her voice as loud as she can. “My name is Felicity!”

“Felicity,” Athena says slowly. “You’re…you’re alive?”

She drops her Xiphos sword, and lets go of the Aspis. She’s unguarded, as a gladiator should never be. Somewhere in the background, Eve says ‘boo’ and Lucy says ‘ _really_?’.

“You’re alive,” Athena says again. And she hugs Felicity tightly.

_HATE_ , says the constructor, but it sounds distant and unimportant.

* * *

* * *

Lilith folds her arms, grudgingly impressed with Lucy’s strategy. Pickle Davis _is_ common ground. He is a sort-of Tina for Athena’s team, beloved by both her and Felicity. Lilith wonders if she’d have thought of putting him in the ring.

Brick announces the duel’s end with a bewildered shrug.

“Tie, I guess?” he says. Athena still hasn’t put Flicktrap down.

_Felicity_ , Lilith corrects herself. _Flicktrap said she wants to be called Felicity now_.

Strange, the power a name can have. Commander. Firehawk. Siren. Lily-of-the-valley. Lucy and Felicity probably know that better than anyone.

Daisy emerges from the crowd. Lilith tenses up for a moment – the woman has a penchant for staging her own death at the slightest inconvenience – but then she notices Daisy is carrying a megaphone, and relaxes. Daisy whispers something about an announcement to Brick, who promptly stacks a few barrels together into a makeshift stage.

And then Lilith notices that Daisy’s shirt is a suspicious shade of blue. She reaches out and grabs Lucy’s arm, pulling the younger siren close.

“I think your fanclub is making an announcement,” she says.

“Oh, I’d forgotten about the cult,” Gaige says, eyes shining. “Wait, should I join up? Is that the sort of thing a supportive girlfriend should do?”

“ _No_ ,” Lucy says vehemently, her eyes still locked on her sister.

Daisy calls for attention, and silence falls. People came to watch a spectacle. If there’s not going to be a fight to the death, they’ll settle for some other form of entertainment.

“Today we made history,” Daisy announces. “Two opposing vault hunters ceased their death-match and found a bloodless resolution. That has _never_ happened before.”

“Is that true?” Timothy whispers to Lilith. “What about that time you nearly killed Athena?”

“That resolution _was_ technically bloodless,” Lilith muses. “But that was _after_ I ordered her execution by firing squad. So maybe it doesn’t count?”

“And who is responsible for this miracle?” Daisy asks her audience, sounding pleased. “Who found the common ground? Who stopped the unstoppable battle? This is the work of the Guardian Angel, Lucy.”

“Urgh,” Lucy says, sinking down behind Gaige.

“I, er, like to think I contributed too,” Pickle pipes up.

Lilith turns her head to her other side, where Timothy stands motionless.

“You just stood by and let one of your kids place himself in harm’s way, huh?” she says, conversationally.

For a second, Timothy looks much, much older than he actually is.

“He’s strong,” Timothy says flatly. “Strong kids are going to do whatever they want. If you try to control them, they’ll shut you out, and go it alone. But if they trust you, they’ll let you follow. At least that way, you can be beside them when the danger comes.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Lilith says, wryly.

“It _is_ ,” Eve tells her.

“I hope it is,” Timothy says softly.

And with that, he lurches off, elbowing his way towards the arena.

“Lucy has promised to bring hope back to Pandora,” Daisy continues, with an air of finality. “And we, the Cult of the Angel, firmly believe that she _will_ deliver.”

At this, the other cult members burst into raucous cheers and applause. Several other citizens clap along. The collective gaze of the crowd falls upon Lucy, who peeks out over Gaige’s shoulder and waves nervously.

“I’m really hoping someone has another announcement to make,” she says softly, just loud enough for Lilith to hear. “I’d settle for an advertisement. Anything to change the subject.”

Gaige strikes a pose with her hands on her hips, making herself as big and threatening as possible.

“Okay, everyone _stop_ with the creepy staring,” she demands. “You’re upsetting my beautiful girlfriend.”

Lucy blushes deeply. And then the moment is shattered by the staticky noise of a megaphone being tapped. Lilith looks over to see Timothy has replaced Daisy on the barrel-stage.

“Listen up,” he says. “I’ve got something important to say.”

Lilith tilts her head, and idly wonders if he’s going to announce the freshly minted Crimson-Raider-slash-Magpie alliance. That’d be some good news for her citizens, for once. That’d be nice.

Instead, Timothy says _this_ :

“Lucy promised to bring hope back to Pandora, it’s true. What is also true is that not so long ago, Lucy promised the Vault of the Destroyer was full of loot. My point is, she’s a proven liar, and you can’t trust her. Timothy out.”

* * *

* * *

The crowd starts to drift away as it becomes obvious that no further spectacles are forthcoming. Lucy closes her eyes against the bustle and the movement. Against the too-red wounds on Lilith’s neck. Her sister is alive and safe. That’s all that matters right now.

“Don’t worry about Timothy,” Gaige says gently, patting her her arm. “I’m sure he was just worried about his son. Little brother? Sonbrother? Anyway, he probably just needed to let off some steam after Pickle stepped in the ring.”

Lucy nods wordlessly, mostly because she’s exhausted, but also because of the way the sunlight catches the freckles on Gaige’s nose.

Felicity joins them, with the slightly-manic gladiator still clinging to her left arm.

“Janey,” Athena says, breathlessly. “This is her. This is the AI core we wiped for Jack.”

“The one from your nightmares?” Janey asks. Her voice is casual, but as she speaks she embraces Athena tightly, finally disentangling her from Felicity.

“That’s me,” Felicity says softly. “Nightmare AI. You can call me Felicity, please.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Janey says, without looking up. “Thanks for not murdering my wife.”

Felicity considers this for a moment. Lucy is so tired. She just wants to take her sister by the hand and go home.

“Well, it’s not really her fault, is it?” Felicity says. “It’s not really anyone’s fault that I am the way I am. I mean, what autonomy does a robot have? Am I even a real vault hunter? Or just an accessory to one?”

“Sure you are,” Brick says, looming over them, voice dripping with unearned confidence. “If Deathtrap is a vault hunter, then so are you.”

Gaige’s eyes grow as round as saucers.

“Deathtrap is a vault hunter?” she asks, excitedly.

“S’what Lucy said,” Brick tells her.

“It’s complicated,” Lucy says, “but if I had a few figurines, I could show you how it works.”

“I wonder why Marcus never said anything?” Gaige murmurs. “I mean, he’s the one who decides these things, isn’t he? Like, officially, he declares who is a vault hunter and who isn’t. He always acted like Deathtrap and I were the same entity.”

“Yes,” Lucy says again, “but if you get _separated,_ he can—”

“I wonder if Marcus thinks _we’re_ the same entity,” Felicity interrupts, pointing between Lucy and herself.

“I don’t know,” Lucy admits.

“I’m going to find out,” Felicity says. “I need to know. I’m having something of an identity crisis. I need to know as much about who I am – and what I am – as possible.”

Lucy is so incredibly fatigued.

“We could do that tomorrow,” she suggests. “We could go back to the cottage and rest first. Whatever you’re dealing with, I can help. Maybe I’ll start making a copy of you. Then you can go and see Marcus when you’re refreshed.”

Felicity smiles distantly. She looks so different in her new body. Not just superficially, but she seems to _fit_ better. Or maybe that’s an illusion.

“No. I want answers now. It won’t take long.”

Lucy nods.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

Lilith holds one hand out to Felicity, beckoning.

“I’ll give you a lift to Sanctuary,” she says. “It’s on my way.”

With a weak little wave, and a flash of phasewalk, Felicity is gone. Again.

“Okay,” Lucy says decisively. “I need to go, too. It’s been too long since I meditated.”

She kisses Gaige on the cheek, and Gaige hides her face with her hands.

“You’ll have to go the long way,” Mordecai reminds her, appearing next to Brick. “You can’t cut through the town of Overlook – too many electronics.”

“A long walk might be nice,” Lucy says. There are a lot of things to process right now. Someone tried to kill her with a buzz-axe, and it was the least memorable event of the day.

“Probably better not to go alone,” Brick rumbles. “I’ll come with you.”

Lucy looks around for Eve, and spots her some distance away, yelling at someone – who is almost definitely Timothy – over echo.

“I’d really like to be alone,” she counters.

Mordecai raises one arm up to the sky with a flourish, and a second later Talon descends from the clouds and lands on it.

“How about a compromise?” he asks. “Talon can go with you. He’s the best companion I know.”

He turns his head to Brick for a moment, as if lost in thought.

“He’s _probably_ the best companion I know,” Mordecai amends, finally.

Talon bounces to Lucy’s shoulder and preens a strand of her hair with his enormous beak. Lucy’s pigeons will be so happy to see him.

“Agreed,” she says. “Talon can come with me. I’ll see the rest of you later”

“Hopefully not too much later!” Gaige yells after her, and Lucy grins in spite of herself.

* * *

* * *

Felicity finds Marcus at the bottom of a dingy staircase, behind a heavily-fortified counter, playing Psycho Chess with his husband.

“I got a pawn all the way to the other side,” Zed drawls animatedly. “That means I get to return a fallen piece to the board.”

“No, it means the pawn gets promoted to witch-queen,” Marcus argues. “Which is a regular queen piece that can move in two different directions simultaneously. How do you _still_ not know the rules? This game is a part of _your_ culture.”

Zed shrugs.

“Don’t have much connection to my culture any more,” he says. “Not since the year both my brothers died. I’m not really clever enough to remember this kind of stuff on my own. And Krieg’s no help, since he got psycho-ed by slag, not by birth.”

“What about your other psycho friends?”

“Oh, like Talon?”

“What the heck? Talon’s not human. He’s _literally_ incapable of being a psycho. _Obviously_ I didn’t mean Talon!”

“I know, but he’s my favourite and I like thinkin’ about him, so he’s the first thing my brain jumps to whenever someone says the word ‘friends’.”

Marcus makes an exasperated noise.

“You’re lucky that you’re hot. You know that, right? You’re lucky that your looks make up for how stupid you are,” he grumbles.

Felicity raps on the glass panel over the counter. Marcus turns to her, his smile turning fake and too-wide in an instant.

“So you want to buy a gun, huh?” he smarms “Come in, come in. Flicktrap, right? You’ve got a new look.”

“I’m called Felicity now, and I came here to ask you a question.”

“If it’s not a question about firearms or ammunition, then go away!” Marcus says. “Unless you want to buy healing or shields from the ball and chain.”

Zed doesn’t look up, apparently lost in thought as he gazes at the black-and-white chess board.

“I want to know if I’ve earned the title of vault hunter,” Felicity continues, steadily. “I understand that you’re the one who decides such things.”

Marcus falls silent for a moment.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I haven’t checked the book in a while. But now that you mention it…there is interest in one of the new vaults, no?”

“Yes. Lucy is going to open the Vault of the Resurrector. And I’m going to help her, if I’m able. If I’m a real vault hunter.”

“You’d better come inside,” Marcus says, “and we will find out together.”

He vanishes into the back, and re-appears a few moments later via a small door at the far end of the store. He beckons for Felicity to follow him, and they pass through three cramped hallways before arriving at what is either a very small library, or a very large office.

All four walls are covered with overburdened bookshelves. In the middle is a desk littered with sheafs of scrap paper, each of which is entitled ‘story ideas’. Felicity immediately starts reading some of them.

“ _’Derby of Dominions_ , but with more lesbians’,” she says. “A romantic comedy titled _’101 uses for skag warts’_. Oh, and here’s one that just says ‘varkid protagonist’ followed by a lot of question marks.”

“I’m a busy man,” Marcus says. He walks over to the smallest, highest shelf, and Felicity goes with him. “Don’t touch any of these books. They belonged to my great-grandparents. They’ve been known to vaporize humans – and the occasional robot – on contact.”

Marcus retrieves a thin volume with a bright yellow cover, and places it carefully on the desk. He then frowns, apparently realising the contradiction in what he just said, and promptly doubles down.

“I am also entirely, one-hundred-percent human, and vulnerable to destruction by these books,” he says, with bluster. “Which means am taking a great risk for you. But it’s worth it, because you’re my favourite customer.”

“I’ve literally never bought anything from you in my life,” Felicity says, but quietly enough that the gunbringer doesn’t hear her. The yellow book is clearly titled ‘Vault Hunters’, and she is suddenly desperate to know what is inside.

She doesn’t have to wait long. Marcus opens it immediately and starts flipping through the pages. Inside, the writing is sparse and dark. Every page contains a list of vault hunters, names and titles, grouped by vault. Felicity sees a page titled _Vault of the Destroyer_ , containing the names of the first four: Roland the Soldier, Lilith the Siren, Mordecai the Hunter, Brick the Berserker. She catches a glimpse of the _Vault of the Warrior,_ and the six names listed below it. 

And then, Marcus arrives at _Vault of the Resurrector_ , and makes a noise of surprise. While every other page has been crisply spotless save for the lettering, this one is darkly stained with blotches of mildew-coloured ink.

“Is that because our hunt is still in progress?” Felicity asks.

Marcus is silent. Felicity wonders if she’s offended him.

“I’m not being critical,” she reassures him. “I think it’s poetic. Everything literally becomes clear once our vault is found.”

Marcus is still silent. Given her experience with Pandoran residents, Felicity is starting to worry he might turn violent over whatever slight he’s perceived.

“It’s an excellent shade of citron, though. And I like the, uh, the décor of your office.”

“This isn’t right,” Marcus says. “This is _my_ book. This is…some _jackass_ is challenging me!”

“Because they spilled ink on your book?” Felicity asks. “Is it that serious? I don’t think any of the other pages are even stained.”

“This page is a direct manifestation of your vault hunting story. It’s being obscured, which means someone is trying to challenge _my_ role. Which means they’re trying to become a god.”

Felicity attempts to process this revelation, and finds she simply does not have the emotional capacity to do so.

“So, what do we do?”

“Dunno. Win, I guess. Everything will be fine if my vault hunters win.”

Marcus gestures to the list of vault hunter names. Most of the words are unreadable beneath the sickly ink, but Felicity’s name is there, clear as day.

  * Felicity the Skipper



Lucy’s name is there too, although the only thing Felicity can say for sure about her title is that it ends in an I, an A, and what looks to be either an N or an R.

“I thought Lucy’s title would be ‘Siren’,” Felicity admits. “At least it’s not ‘Angel’, I suppose. I wonder what it is?”

Marcus follows her line of vision.

“Guardian,” he says, decisively. “It’s gotta be Lucy the Guardian.”

Felicity smiles. That sounds perfect, someohow.

What’s less perfect is the fact that there are two other entries on their list. The titles are legible, although the names of these mystery individuals are thoroughly obliterated, thanks to a generous slosh of ink.

“I don’t understand. Who are these other vault hunters? Will they be helping us?”

Marcus shrugs, hitting himself in the ear with a pauldron.

“Don’t know. Maybe they’ve already helped you. Maybe you haven’t met ‘em yet.”

Felicity points to the one entitled ‘Siren’, carefully keeping her finger a good inch away from the paper.

“Could this be Lilith?”

Marcus passes a hand over his beard.

“I’ve never heard of anyone being on two different pages before, but maybe. She’s a special girl.”

He says the last part in a husky voice that is clearly meant to be an impersonation of Moxxi. But Felicity isn’t in the mood for jokes. And she is _definitely_ not in the mood for whatever is going on with the title of the final member in their list.

“There’s only four of us,” she says. “That much is obvious, even with the stains. You can count them if you don’t believe me. There’s definitely not more than four names in this list.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Marcus snaps. Then he peruses the page, and nods. “There’s exactly four.”

“So _why_ is the final entry in our vault hunting group given the title of ‘The Fifth Guy’?”

Marcus looks at her evenly for a moment.

“Maybe he can’t count?” he suggests acidly. “Are you really panicking about the numbers being off? Someone is trying to become a god!”

“I’m panicking about _everything_ ,” Felicity replies, with absolute honesty.

* * *

* * *

“I dunno,” Lilith says. She lets one leg dangle off the side of the statue, while keeping the other tucked beneath her. “We saved Tannis in the end, so I guess that’s something. But the cost was too high. I should have been more strategic in deploying Timothy. I should have been a better leader.”

She hesitates, taking a deep breath through her nose, and surveys the Highlands southwest graveyard. The tombstone-dotted terrain is littered with empty chassis. A year ago, Claptrap decided that all his dead compatriots should be brought here to rest, but he’d never bothered to actually _bury_ them or anything. Now they’re just an irreverent blight on the landscape.

Still, the shiny scrap metal distracts from the dirt and debris of the most recent bout of grave robbers. And up here, on the shoulder of a twenty-foot high Roland statue, the cemetery seems almost serene.

“I don’t _feel_ as much, any more,” Lilith admits, to uncaring granite ears. “When you were Commander, you were emotionally repressed. And clever and tactical and super-competent. People looked at you, and they saw a future where things might be okay. But me, I’m _just_ emotionally repressed. None of the other stuff.”

Her sad monologue is interrupted by an ill-timed echo.

“Lilith, do you have a moment? I need to talk to you about science. Not to be confused with our previous conversations, where I talked _at_ you about science. On this occasion, I need you to _listen_.”

Lilith tries to smile.

“Tannis,” she says. “It sounds like you’ve recovered from the kidnapping.”

“Naturally. My intense academic curiosity lends itself to rapid emotional recovery, just as siren powers beget accelerated physical healing. I returned to my studies as soon as we left the infirmary, and have since logged several hours of productive vault research.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lilith says. She isn’t glad, exactly, but she feels like she _would_ be, were she not so entirely numb.

“I’ve learned something new about the Resurrector,” Tannis continues. “It is not an Eridian being, as previously thought. It is an Eridian creation.”

“Okay?”

The revelation does not warrant the note of panic swimming through the professor’s words, or the pointed silence that follows.

“So it’s like, a Guardian, then,” Lilith adds, after a moment. “That’s good to know, I guess.”

“It is _not_ like a Guardian at all,” Tannis says sharply. “According to the ancient texts I’ve been cross-referencing, the Resurrector is something entirely different. It is a semi-sentient computer, programmed to run a series of tasks if certain conditions are met.”

Lilith rubs the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, that checks out,” she says, after a moment. “The task it runs is: bring undead person back to life, and the conditions are all the other little rules, like that the subject must open the vault themselves without help, and they’ve got to _be_ undead – or dead and operative somehow – and all that other shit you’ve been talking about.”

“Yes,” Tannis says, expectantly.

“Yes,” Lilith agrees, tiredly.

“So?”

“Is there a problem, Tannis?”

“Oh all right, I’ll spoonfeed you. We’re relying on a girl whose defining trait is _making computers lag_ to seamlessly interface with what is essentially an Eridian computer.”

“Fuck,” Lilith says, her head spinning. “I gotta go.”

She disconnects, jumps to the ground, and heads back towards Sanctuary. And then, a moment later, she phasewalks back to the statue and gently fistbumps it.

“Forgot to say goodbye,” she mutters and leaves.

* * *

* * *

The walk back to the cottage is leisurely, punctuated only by Talon’s mewls and the satisfying crunch of grass beneath Lucy’s feet. As she rounds the final bend, the crunch is replaced by the angry _snap_ of breaking glass. Lucy looks down.

Pickle immediately manifests over echo, as he is wont to do.

“That looks like Zaford single malt bladeflower whiskey,” he tells Lucy. “Nasty stuff. Last year I drank half a bottle to celebrate stealing a diamond warp core. I passed out for three days afterwards. Don’t remember a thing, but when I woke up, I somehow had _two_ diamond warp cores. Anyway, underage drinking is bad!”

“Thank you,” Lucy says tersely. She spots the glint of another discarded glass bottle a few feet away. And then another. And another.

“There wasn’t this much rubbish here when I left,” Lucy says. “There wasn’t _any_ rubbish here when I left.”

“Don’t know what to tell you. Pandoran citizens are awful good at turning beautiful scenery into tom-tit-shit.”

Lucy walks a little further.

“All the lights are on in my cottage,” she says slowly. “Why would Agthri put the lights on? They can’t even fit inside.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll call you back.”

She picks her way across the littered ground. A slick, ugly feeling of _wrongness_ is starting to settle in Lucy’s chest. This wasn’t how she left things. Maybe…maybe Eve got back before her? Maybe a troupe of random bandits are squatting in her home?

A loud rustling from a nearby rock startles Talon out of his serene repose, and makes Lucy jump in the air. She looks down to see her four favourite pigeons huddled together, an air of fear creeping onto their matching blank expressions.

Lucy contacts Agthri.

“Hello old friend. Is everything okay?”

It’s a weird message to send, especially when she’s less than twenty paces from her cottage. Later, they’ll laugh about how weird it was together, Lucy tells herself.

Talon turns his head back and forth, torn between his assigned charge and his cowering fanclub. He seems to adore his pigeons, but he adores Mordecai more, and isn’t about to disregard a command from his father.

Agthri answers, finally, but the words are distorted, too-slow, sick.

“Lucy…” Lucy’s heartbeat arcs into a crescendo as Agthri struggles to continue, “Lucy…run…away…”

“Are you inside?” she asks.

“Around…the back….” Agthri gurgles. “Don’t…come…”

Lucy walks faster. The pigeons file out of their hiding place and toddle along behind her. A new voice crackles over the echo.

“Lucy! What has currently two thumbs and also heard you tell Lilith you’d _never_ do anything to hurt Sanctuary?”

“Esbiun,” Lucy says, through gritted teeth. “What did you do to my _friend?_ ”

“I say ‘currently’ because the number of thumbs changes like, a _lot_. Turns out I’m not very stable. Every time I get killed it’s like, ‘what otherworldly powers will I get in my next incarnation’? But also ‘will there be a manageable quantity of thumbs’?”

In a panicked blur, Lucy circles around her cottage until she can see the porch, where Agthri is standing motionless and slumped. And right beside them is Esbiun. He is staring at her balefully. Also he is wearing Gaige’s duck-adorned pyjamas and slippers, for reasons that Lucy may never understand.

Lucy twists back around, out of sight, and places Talon on the ground next to the pigeons.

“Stay here and protect them,” she says quietly.

Then she retrieves the staff from her belt, and approaches her doppleganger and nemesis.

“If you’ve hurt Agthri, I will _kill_ you,” she declares.

Esbiun laughs, and there’s an unsettling familiarity to it that Lucy cannot place.

“Like you killed Breaktrap?” he asks.

“Lucy…” Agthri murmurs. “Lucy…Lucy…run…”

From this close, Lucy can see something vivid and vile dribbling through the joins in Agthri’s giant chassis.

“What did you do to them?” she breathes, gripping the wood so tight that a splinter buries itself in the flesh of her palm.

“Killed ‘em,” Esbiun says. “There’s no reversing the poison I used. But you can try if you want. Don’t let me stop ya.”

Lucy blindly grabs a stray health needle from under the doorstop and jams it into Agthri’s nearest port. But instead of injecting, it turns to inert grey powder and falls to the grass. _Useless_.

“I could have used something quicker,” Esbiun says, fiddling with the hem of his stolen shirt. “But I kinda wanted you to watch your pal shuffle off this mortal coil. I think I thought it would…how did you put it…keep you in check?”

A primal scream tears itself from Lucy’s lungs: a lifetime of torture and confinement condensed into a single outraged noise. Someone is _killing_ her _friend_. She hasn’t been this angry since she found out that Jack murdered Roland.

Esbiun looks taken aback as she charges him, staff raised for combat.

“What the—” he says. “Where did you get _that_?”

Lucy hits him, once, and it’s like beating a wet sponge with a spoon. Pointless. Esbiun vanishes, like a coward, and reappears a few feet behind her.

“Well, you’re here now,” he says. “I guess this can be violent if you want it to be violent.”

And with that, he draws a gun. It’s not particularly big or fancy – some sort of Bruiser model, if Lucy’s memory serves correctly – but it is enough to overpower the weakened Agthri. A single shot disassembles the massive robot’s body, which falls to the ground in scattered shards.

“Luce…” Agthri says, and then they don’t say anything else. The twin AI cores are in fragments. Lucy grabs at the air, as if trying to catch and hold whatever remains of Agthri’s ephemeral self, but it is too late. There is no _body_ left to hold consciousness. For an uncopied artificial intelligence, that is the definition of death.

“That was for Breaktrap,” Esbiun pronounces. “You shoulda left her alone. Do you know who killed her the _first_ time she was alive? Jack. And now you killed her a second time. For no reason! And sure, I may have done some contract work for Hyperion once or twice, but what you did is totally worse. You’re just the same as your father.”

With this he turns on his heel, and leaves.

And Lucy is left alone in the cold empty field amid the dismembered body of her friend. Someone shrieks, and Lucy isn’t sure if it’s her or Talon.

* * *

* * *

_to be continued in chapter 16_


End file.
